Classic Poem

How slow to him who feels the smart of love
Time's leaden hours to sweet possession move !
His wing'd desires out-strip each tardy morn ;
Eager he cries — long-wish'd for day be born,
When to my heart soft vows shall Mira tie,
And love's own laws the priest shall sanctify !
Dull lingering days revolve, and nights succeed,
And still on love's fond dreams I hapless feed.
The throbs of passion, and the heart-felt pain,
The hope far distant, and the longing vain ;
The sigh unfeigned, the bosom's troublous swell —
Ah ! what are these ? — say lovers, ye can tell !

What shall divide the pair whom love hath join'd,
And heaven hath form'd with sympathy of mind ?
Shall grov'ling fortune basely interpose,
To part those hearts where mutual passion glows ?
Forbid it love ! — — For raiment, house and food,
These brows shall be with honest sweat bedew'd.
Early each morn I'll wake the cherub health ,
And cheerful industry's best prize is wealth ;
We'll bound our wishes in a temp'rate round,
Yet shall our table be with plenty crown'd ;
No friend, nor stranger, will we send away
Without a meal, and glass, discreetly gay ;
Neat elegance shall deck our little store,
And fair aeconomy shall keep the door ;
How shall the proud with wonder then behold
Our blissful lives without a hoard of gold !

Oh then ! my Mira , love-inspiring fair,
Who with thy swain should then in bliss compare ?
Not only that thy beauty's pleasing charms
Shall fire my panting soul with love's alarms ;
Nor that thy cheek which shames the peach's bloom,
And ruby lips that breathe divine perfume,
Enchant me all ; nor yet thy spotless breast,
Which gently heaves, can make me wholly blest.
'Tis that thy manners, void of guile and art,
Speak the internal goodness of thy heart ;
'Tis that thy sweetness heightens ev'ry grace,
And dove-like innocence adorns thy face.
'Tis that thy soul is warm'd with virtue's fire,
Merit can love, and real worth admire !
Can view a coxcomb's tinsel and despise,
And sense, without a figure, truly prize.
Can with thy lover feel unfeign'd desire,
And own that passion which thy charms inspire.
Nor blush at these, thou dearest, lovely maid,
These shall attract, when beauty's bloom shall fade ;
When all the radiance of thy form shall die,
These, with fresh lustre, shall thy age supply ;
Enhance our love when sprightly youth is past,
Improve with years, and all our lives shall last.