Classic Poem

B UT , hark! what jocund bell is heard?
'Tis Hymen still, to joy preferr'd —
'Tis Flavia's wreath, her Beauty's pride;
Nor ever blush'd a lovelier Bride:
The air is by the Zephyrs fann'd;
The scene around is Fairy-land;
The torch is li't for Hymen's hour;
The Loves have dress'd the sacred bow'r.
Yet was I present, when the ray
Of Stella's Beauty won the day;
" Poor Flavia! " then was Love's complaint,
Thy cheek in vain the roses paint;
For they must wither in their bloom —
'Tis Love's complaint, but Fortune's doom. "
Yet Flavia now is Fortune's pride!
And 'tis poor Stella that has died!
Alas, what fleeting hues are shed
On Flavia's transitory bed!
But Stella , waken'd from the tomb,
Is an Eternity — in bloom.