Classic Poem

Rage on, ye winds, with direst might,
Descend ye lightnings from above;
Enfold me round ye shades of night,
And shield me from the shafts of Love.

No more can gentle Peace resume
Its wonted throne within my breast;
Or Hope the darksome void illume,
Sad bosom barr'd for e'er of rest.

Unkind Miranda! merc'less fair!
Say, why you caus'd me thus distress'd?
Too lovely nymph! why solemn swear,
You liv'd to make Orlando blest?

Say, why that cruel fond concern
Of poor Orlando, once you took?
Why cherish'd Hope you meant to spurn,
Which love like mine but ill can brook?

Encircled in thy snowy arms,
How swift the pleasing hours flew!
Each trembling pulse beat love's alarms,
For nought but love Orlando knew.

How often on his neck you hung,
And sweetly deign'd his lips to kiss;
Until soft numbers from thy tongue,
Absorb'd my love-sick soul in bliss!

But, ah! how chang'd Orlando's doom!
One little month — nay, scarce so much,
Proclaims her married! — ah! to whom?
Distracting thought! — Miranda blush!

Lie still my heart, thy plaints forbear,
She is not worthy e'en a sigh;
Some other maid perhaps as fair,
May false Miranda's place supply:

One who can banish every pain,
And to thy bosom peace restore;
Then cease, sad mourner, to complain,
And shed a hapless tear no more.