Classic Poem

O shining mistress of the pure and strong!
Crown'd with May blossoms, sun-lit thy blue eye —
Cans't thou forgive my wanderings, oft and long,
From thy firm bosom where the bold may lie,
Nor fear the guilty pinion hovering nigh?

Fill, fill the wine cup! Drink, drink fathoms deep!
Crown you with garlands, roses dewed with wine?
Hence carking care? Be banished gentle sleep!
Let Revel dance, gay wit's glad lightnings shine,
And laughter grow more loud with night's decline.

The sun is up; the perfumed landscape glows;
The streams go silvering thro' the meadows green;
The golden mist o'er all things glory throws,
A thousand flowers breathe incense round their queen
Whose white and red make mock of beauty's sheen.

Ah! my blithe reveller, where now art thou?
Thy beaming eye, quick wit, wild laughter's swell?
That eye is dull, dark gloom nods on thy brow,
Thy heart sways sadly, thy hot brain's a hell,
And e'en the wine has lost its quick'ning spell.

O shining mistress of the pure and free!
No more I'll quit thy strong inspiring hand,
Nor shun to joy with thee on life's great sea,
Whereon we'll sail, nor fear the fateful strand,
Where mid blanch'd bones the chanting Sirens stand.