Classic Poem

Wake, languid muse! and tell the friendly Bard,
How well the gift, dear signal of regard,
That proudest monument which friendship shews,
While virtue charms us, and while genius glows.
The polished verse, the sweetly flattering strain,
Can sooth to soft forgetfulness of pain
The throbbing nerve, whose rest-destroying power
Told the quick pulse thro' many a tedious hour,
For to his ear benevolently kind,
I know the voice of gratitude shall find
An ever ready welcome, tho' denied
Wit's brilliant ray, or fancy's graceful pride
Ah! to the generous mind, the feeling heart,
What power of song can such delight impart,
As the pure, conscious triumph that succeeds
The grateful echo of their own kind deeds?
Not the bright clusters of Parnassian fruit,
Wreathing rich tendrils round Apollo's lute,
Nor his soft pencil's most celestial dye,
Pour such enchantment on the glist'ning eye,
As the pale lips which hope reviving speak,
Or the faint smile that brightens sorrow's cheek.
When that faint hope, that renovated smile,
Repay the kindness which could grief beguile,
And the full heart, with whispering pride may say,
My soothing cares have chased one pang away.