Classic Poem

Take hence this tuneful Trifler's lays!
I'll hear no more the' unmeaning strain
Of Venus' doves, and Cupid's darts,
And killing eyes, and wounded hearts;
All Flattery's round of fulsome praise,
All Falsehood's cant of fabled pain.

Bring me the Muse whose tongue has told
Love's genuine, plaintive, tender tale;
Bring me the Muse whose sounds of woe
Midst Death's dread scenes so sweetly flow,
When Friendship's faithful breast lies cold,
When Beauty's blooming cheek is pale:
Bring these—I like their grief sincere;
It soothes my sympathetic gloom;
For, oh! Love's genuine pains I've borne,
And Death's dread rage has made me mourn;
I've wept o'er Friendship's early bier,
And dropt the tear on Beauty's tomb.