Classic Poem

I.

Beneath a giant hill, whose awful brow,
With wild flow'rs wreath'd, a holy horror flung;
Pensive, I mark'd the small stream's busy flow,
Soft-sighing, to its banks, a liquid Song.

II.

Mean while, the weary Sun, with placid eye,
Beam'd orient rapture on the shadowy plain;
And, starting, foremost, on the enamel'd sky,
Young Hesper, led his saphire-vested train.

III.

Then, solitary, did I moan the Minstrel's fate,
When, lo! a pilgrim-form, amaz'd my sight,
His green robe faded, told an ancient date,
His glances, mildly keen, his tresses, silv'ry white.

IV.

A sculptur'd harp he bore, the warbling strings,
Rung, tremulous, to ev'ry passing gale;
And M OTION , softly furl'd her flagging wings,
Eager, the solemn accents to inhale.

V.

" Arise, fond youth, (he cry'd,) who court the Muse, "
" Despondent Son of Harmony, arise! "
" Quick, shalt thou feel ambrosian bounty's dews, "
" And see, Content, approach in Grandeur's guise. "

VI.

" Ah me! (I sad, return'd,) what gentle hand,
" Will bless the Poet, and increase his store;
" What Patron, guard him, in this languid land? "
A voice, celestial-sweet, reply'd — — D ROMORE !