Classic Poem

While easy, now, you, to cool shades, retire,
Soft, as the innocence of your desire;
Refin'd, as your well-govern'd passions are,
And, sharply gentle, like your worldly care:
I, toil'd with life's fatigues, stick fast, in town,
And waste slow hours, in search of vain renown.
Snatch at coy fortune, still, as she appears,
And wear out chequer'd time, in hopes , and fears .
But tir'd, at last, with the bespotted scene,
More pleas'd, I, toward your brighter prospect, lean,
And, while your glitt'ring stars shine out so clear,
I half forget the pains, which gall me, here.
Methinks, I see you far-advancing, still,
I see you, on religion's mightiest hill!
Your sleeves of lawn I see! and mitred head!
And crowds, that kneel before your reverend tread!
Then, aw'd with pious love, my ravish'd eye
Akes, for your blessing, as you pass me by.
'Twill be! the watchful saviour wakes above,
Still views his church, with a paternal love!
He weighs the zeal, which his lov'd laws inspire,
And having mark'd you, of his holy choir,
Will lift you to behold your virtues nigher .
Oh, happy she! who, blest, for both your sakes,
In your pure breast, her earthly heav'n partakes!
And when, at last — long may it be! she dies,
May plead your passport , as she upward flies!