Classic Poem

Yet, mid the magic of those regal walls,
The glittering train, the courtier's flattering tone,
Or by her lord, through fair ancestral halls,
Led on, to claim their treasures as her own,
Stole back the scenery of her solitude:
An aged father, in his cabin rude,
Mix'd with her dreams a melancholy moan,
Notching his simple calendar, with pain,
And straining his red eye to watch the misty main.