Classic Poem

Ah ! leave, you cry, the harp unstrung,
For Fortune shifts her fickle wind:
Resume thy lyre, on willows hung,
To sing the fair, no longer kind.

No—nearer view my alter'd state,
For fear too high, for hope too low;
Beneath the victor's joyful fate,
Yet far above the captive's woe.

The charms of sense no more beguile;
On Reason's lap I lay me down:
If claiming now no beauties' smile,
Appears it just to meet their frown?

Light insects they, of gaudy hues,
Admire the glare of youthful day,
Still bathe in morn's, not evening's dews,
From shades of autumn fleet away.

Behold their train of captains, beaux!
Disdain my breast, disdain to sigh!
To these the fair, the rivals those,
The son of Jove's be my reply:

‘Ah, why desert the' Olympic games?
Aspire to victory!’ Philip cries:
‘I come,’ young Ammon fierce exclaims,
‘If kings my rivals, thrones the prize.’

Yes, letter'd maid! my soul approve,
The seat no more of vain desires:
Extinguish'd there the flame of love,
Extinguish'd there Ambition's fires!

To save from vice, from folly save,
What aid can beauty, power, afford?
Unworthy love to call thee slave,
Unworthy crowds to call thee lord!

Pure reason, yes; pure truth—but why,
Ah, why! rebellious heart declare,
With flattering pulse and stifled sigh,
That other tenants harbour there?

Go—tranquil Hope, by turns to dwell,
Expelling Reason Pleasure's court,
Expelling Passion Wisdom's cell:
Go—Reason's, Passion's mutual sport.

Vain dreamer!—rather both revere,
But neither's sole dominion own:
When Heaven assign'd to each their sphere,
It never meant excluding one:

Excluding which?—objections wait
On vain pretensions either forms;
Alike to life's salubrious state
Ye both are fatal—calms and storms.