Classic Poem

I.

A Muse, in learning's arduous toil unskill'd,
That sung her wild-notes to the silent shade,
Collected blossoms from her native field,
And o'er the rural scenes delighted stray'd:
Though unambitious of the wreath of fame,
Yet glow'd her bosom with a nobler flame.

II.

Nor kings nor heroes grac'd her artless lay,
For peaceful themes to silvan shades belong;
Alike unknown among the Great and Gay,
Soft adulation flow'd not in her song.
To heaven that gave them, oft her notes aspire,
Or friendship wakes the sympathizing lyre.

III.

Indulgent Friendship, listening, caught the strain,
And fondly fancy'd it was tun'd to move;
Then, smiling, bore it to the distant plain,
Far, ah how far beyond its native grove!
But say, Lysander, can such notes as these
Amid politer scenes expect to please?

IV.

Say, can these untaught airs acceptance find
Where Milton, wonderous bard! divinely sung?
Or yield a taste of pleasure to the mind
That raptur'd soars with Hervey or with Young?
In minds of polish'd frame can friendship dwell
Plain, unadorn'd, as in the rural cell?

V.

Yet friendship dwells with piety sincere,
Or in the cottage, or the stately dome,
Whether detain'd in crouded scenes of care,
Or in the village fix'd, her peaceful home:
Where these reside, though artless be her strain,
O may the muse a kind admission gain.

VI.

If minds, where piety and friendship glow,
Approving smile, and own the kindred theme;
That smile a nobler pleasure will bestow,
Than all the laurell'd wreaths of boasting fame;
Blest minds! to these the Muse devotes her lays;
If these approve, she seeks no other praise.