Classic Poem

Sorrow, away! ye gloomy thoughts begone!
Thalia comes in ev'ry grace array'd;
Prepare the cymbal, tune the festive song,
See ev'ry homage to the goddess paid.

Unfold the Cestus form'd by magic skill,
And bind around Attraction's airy waist;
Enough — beware — each arrow aims to kill,
Shot from the bow of Fancy, and of Taste.

Methinks I see the lovely fair one smile,
And lightly trip it o'er the mimic stage;
Her artless look, devoid of ev'ry guile,
Unknowing, captivates and charms the age.
Reign then, Thalia, on thy British shore,
Till Chaos comes, and Time shall be no more.