Classic Poem

Thus to be chain'd for ever, can I bear?
A very torment that, in truth, would be.
This very day my new resolve shall see,—
I'll not go near the lately-worshipp'd Fair.

Yet what excuse, my heart, can I prepare
In such a case, for not consulting thee?
But courage! while our sorrows utter we
In tones where love, grief, gladness have a share.

But see! the minstrel's bidding to obey,
Its melody pours forth the sounding lyre,
Yearning a sacrifice of love to bring.

Scarce wouldst thou think it—ready is the lay;
Well, but what then? Methought in the first fire
We to her presence flew, that lay to sing.