Classic Poem

AMYNTAS. — FLORELLUS .

AMYNTAS .

While yet grey twilight does his empire hold,
Drive all our heifers to the peaceful fold;
With sullied wing grim darkness soars along,
And larks to nightingales resign the song:
The weary ploughman flies the waving fields,
To taste what fare his humble cottage yields:
As bees that daily thro' the meadows roam:
Feed on the sweets they have prepar'd at home.
Flor. The grassy meads that smil'd serenely gay,
Cheer'd by the ever-burning lamp of day;
In dusky hue attir'd, are cramp'd with colds,
And springing flow'rets shut their crimson folds.
Am. What awful silence reigns throughout the shade,
The peaceful olive bends his drooping head;
No sound is heard o'er all the gloomy maze,
Wide o'er the deep the fiery meteors blaze.
Flor. The west yet ting'd with Sol's effulgent ray,
With feeble light illumes our homeward way;
The glowing stars with keener lustre burn,
While round the earth their glowing axles turn.
Am. What mighty power conducts the stars on high!
Who bids these comets thro' our system fly!
Who wafts the lightning to the icy pole!
And thro' our regions bids the thunders roll?
Flor. But say, what mightier pow'r from nought could raise
The earth, the sun, and all that fiery maze
Of distant stars that gild the azure sky,
And thro' the void in settled orbits fly?
Am. That righteous pow'r before whose heavenly eye
The stars are nothing and the planets die;
Whose breath divine supports our mortal frame,
Who made the lion wild and lambkin tame.
Flor. At his command the bounteous spring returns;
Hot summer, raging o'er th' Atlantic burns;
The yellow autumn crowns our sultry toil;
And winter's snows prepare the cumb'rous soil.
Am. By him the morning darts his purple ray;
To him the birds their early homage pay;
With vocal harmony the meadows ring,
While swains in concert heav'nly praises sing.
Flor. Sway'd by his word, the nutrient dews descend,
And growing pastures to the moisture bend;
The vernal blossoms sip his falling showers;
The meads are garnish'd with his op'ning flowers.
Am. For man, the object of his chiefest care,
Fowls he hath form'd to wing the ambient air,
For him the steer his lusty neck doth bend;
Fishes for him their scaly fins extend.
Flor. Wide o'er the orient sky the moon appears,
A foe to darkness and his idle fears;
Around her orb the stars in clusters shine,
And distant planets tend her silver shrine.
Am. Hush'd are the busy numbers of the day;
On downy couch they sleep their hours away;
Hail, balmy Sleep, that soothes the troubled mind!
Lock'd in thy arms our cares a refuge find.
Oft do you tempt us with delusive dreams,
When wild'ring Fancy darts her dazzling beams;
Asleep the lover with his mistress strays
Thro' lonely thickets and untrodden ways.
But when pale Cynthia's sable empire's fled,
And hov'ring slumbers shun the morning bed,
Rous'd by the dawn, he wakes with frequent sigh,
And all his flattering visions quickly fly.
Flor. Now owls and bats infest the midnight scene,
Dire snakes invenom'd twine along the green;
Forsook by man the rivers mourning glide,
And groaning echoes swell the noisy tide,
Straight to our cottage let us bend our way;
My drowsy pow'rs confess sleep's magic sway.
Easy and calm upon our couch we'll lie,
While sweet reviving slumbers round our pillows fly.