Classic Poem

A WAK'D by Fancy 's fairy voice
When first I strung the early lyre,
The M USES mark'd my infant choice,
And bade my trembling notes aspire:

And, beaming o'er my op'ning soul,
Her pow'rs young E MULATION shed:
And H OPE still pointing to the goal,
Around her golden pinions spread:

Fair Daughter of the radiant morn
With roses still renewing crown'd,
Which blooming, as they hide the thorn,
Can deal unseen the deadly wound!

I view'd the glorious track of Fame,
Fond ardour in my heart arose;
Again I saw, without a name
What thousands in the dust repose.

And I, with all this love of song
Shall join, said I, this num'rous croud,
And mingling with the vulgar throng
Shall wither in a nameless shroud!

She rais'd my eyes, my trembling hand;
She led me to the Muses train,
And at her feet I took my stand
And join'd each emulative strain.

With bolder flights I scorn'd repose;
From Friendship's fire and Fancy's store,
At length this little volume rose,
And Hope indulgent points to more.

Here, if some feeling Soul should trace
That kindred warmth, that genial glow,
Which bids Affection's angel face
With sympathetic tears o'erflow;

No glory more the heart requires;
Nor asks of Heav'n a brighter meed;
Nor yet to other fame aspires:
Blest, if that warmest wish succeed!