Classic Poem

As once with my Cynthia I saunter'd along
Where Spring had bedappled the Ground,
Where the Nightingale warbled her Love-labour'd Song ,
And Nature look'd smiling around.

By Chance a fleet Hawk thro' the Air wing'd his Way,
(How hard is keen Rapine appeas'd!)
When a poor little Sparrow that perch'd on a Spray
By the Tyrant was cruelly feiz'd.

My Cynthia like Lightning fled over the Plain,
(Ever prone to relieve the distrest!)
With a Scream chas'd the Hawk ere the Sparrow was slain,
And snatch'd him with Joy to her Breast.

There lodg'd for a while in the safest Retreat,
Where a thousand soft Comforts arise;
Cou'd he ever feel Happiness half so compleat
Tho' restor'd to the Range of the Skies?

Ah then! cry'd my Soul, if my Cynthia but bless,
Ye Cares, and ye Sorrows adieu —
For surely the Bosom that pities Distress
Will never forget to be true.

If Misfortune, or Sickness their Woes should impart,
If the Frowns of the World shou'd torment,
How soon wou'd she drive the dark Clouds from my Heart,
And infuse the sweet Balm of Content!

Then grant me, kind Heav'n, my ardent Request,
Oh grant me the Nymph I adore! —
If the Passage of Life with Cynthia be blest,
Ambition can crave for no more.