Classic Poem

The poor, maim'd soldier , from his duty , freed,
Safe, and at ease, commences invalid ,
I, like the wounded sons of brave old Rome ,
Call'd , by the cause I love, my post resume ;
And, quitting rest , lest it should seem neglect ,
Forget my tears , to bring you my respect .

Who (by your pow'rful praises , once made vain )
Could stoop to languish, in a sense of pain?
Sweet smiling hope resign, for sullen ease .
And, (against nature ) wish no more, to please!
The generous heart will some compassion show,
Where pleasures (only ours ) are chang'd for woe .
But, ah! what anguish did my steps pursue,
While 'twas my life's whole task , to pleasure you!
Could but my misery merit your regard ,
Be your kind pity all my wish'd reward .
Proud, I return, your servant to remain;
Scarce does she live at all , who lives, in vain.
What's a dark world, where hopes no longer chear?
Your loss were death — 'tis life to find you, here .