Classic Poem

Sweet is thy cadence to the ear of Woe,
As music stealing thro' the gloom of night;
And richly deck'd, thy living pictures glow
With Painting's softest tints and purest light,
In matchless Poesy can thus unite
The rival Arts, with mingling charms divine,
And all their tuneful pow'r, sweet bard, is thine!
Thy pensive lay the captive soul beguiles,
And graces Woe with more than Pleasure's smiles.
Pale Sorrow views her soften'd image there,
And almost loves a form that looks so fair!

Let conscious Vanity her robes admire,
Drest in the plumage of the Peacock gay,
And deck the flow'ry haunts of young Desire,
To hide the fatal snares which cross her way!
With thee, sweet Bard, oh rather let me stray
Where Melancholy, queen of sable night,
With looks enamour'd, marks the moonlight beam
Hang o'er the precipice, with peaceful light,
Or gild the surface of the silver stream.