Classic Poem

O she must charm a Husband's heart,
Who has a soul like thine, —
Enriched by ties of magic-art,
And feelings so divine;
From whence the stream of virtue flows,
Nor tastes of sad decay; —
Where fondest love-emotion glows,
Warm as the god of day.

Thy thoughts are ready on the wing —
Thy pen is ever free, —
Thy Muse is always prone to sing,
Of brightest things that be;
The fairy touch thou givest all,
Sheds sunlight on the scene;
And throws a happy tinctured pall
Of verdure o'er the green.

How sweetly hast thou sung of Spring's
Return in budding trees,
And of the little Bird that sings
'Mid the reviving breeze; —
And of the Barque upon the sea,
Lashed by the angry wave;
And of the melting harmony
Played round the Soldier's grave.

Yes, thou hast sung in sweetest lays,
Those truths which touch the heart;
And soft and fond sensations raise,
And finest thoughts impart;
And thou hast tamed the fiercest breast,
And drawn the tear — the sigh,
From him, who whilom had suppressed,
And sense of sympathy.

And who gave thee this ruling power?
Ask Nature's God, he'll say,
He brought thee forth a balmy flower,
And oped thy bocom gay, —
To freshest breeze, and bluest sky,
And brightest solar rays;
And gave a soul of melody,
To mingle with thy lays.

No wonder, then, thou singst so well,
When gifted with a soul,
Composed of qualities that tell
Of one delightful whole.
When kept and ruled by feelings fond,
And Nature for thy guide;
No marvel though thou soar'st beyond,
This world and all beside.