Classic Poem

How fearful 'tis to walk the sounding shore,
When low'rs the sky, and winds are piping loud!
And round the beach the tearful maidens croud,
Scar'd at the swelling surge and thunder's roar.
High o'er the cliffs the screaming Sea-mews soar,
Lost is th'adventurous bark in stormy cloud,
The shrill blast whistles through the fluttering shroud;
And lo! the gallant crew, that erst before
Secure rode tilting o'er the placid wave,
Scarce know to stem the black and boisterous main,
And view, with eyes aghast, their watery grave.
So fares it with the breast of him, the Swain,
Who quits Content for mad Ambition's lore,
Short are his days, and distant far the shore.