Classic Poem

If, when tomorrow's Sun with upward ray,
Gilds the wide spreading oak, and burnish'd pine,
Destin'd to mingle here with foreign clay,
Pale, cold, and still, should sleep this form of mine;
The Day-star, with as lustrous warmth would glow,
And thro' the ferny lairs and forest shades,
With sweetest woodscents fraught, the air would blow,
And timid wild deer, bound along the glades;
While in a few short months, to clothe the mould,
Would velvet moss and purple melic rise,
By Heaven's pure dewdrops water'd, clear and cold,
And birds innumerous sing my obsequies;
But, in my native land, no faithful maid
To mourn for me, would pleasure's orgies shun;
No sister's love my long delay upbraid;
No mother's anxious love demand her son.
Thou, only thou, my friend, would feel regret,
My blighted hopes and early fate deplore;
And, while my faults thou'dst palliate or forget,
Would half rejoice, I felt that fate no more.