Classic Poem

From Metastasio, 1791

Vain dreams, and fictions of distress and love,
I idly feigned, but, while I fondly strove
To paint with every grace the tale of woe,
Ah fool! my tears unbid began to flow.
O'er the invented griefs I vainly mourn,
With real sorrow is my bosom torn.
But has the muse alone the fatal power
To vex with fancied woes the troubled hour?
When she resigns her empire o'er my soul,
Does reason then this tranquil breast controul?
Deceived no longer by ingenious art,
Does wisdom rule each motion of my heart?
Do no vain loves, no idle passions rage,
No fond desires my restless thoughts engage?
Alas! not only when I write, and sing,
I soar on fancy's ever varying wing.
But all my hopes, and all my fears are vain,
And all my acts but like the tales I feign,
Vexed by vain cares, by vain delights deceived,
In empty dreams I joy, and I am grieved:
My raving life is one continual cheat,
And all my wishes but a fond deceit,
Ah Lord! arouse me from this dream of woes,
And let me in the arms of truth repose.English