Classic Poem

Fled are the blossoms of each tree,
And blasted ev'ry bough;
Silent and gloomy is the grove,
And solitary now.

In vain I seek each fav'rite spot
That gave delight before;
Dismal each fav'rite spot appears,
And gives delight no more.

A prospect comfortless and sad,
Long lengthens all around;
And ev'ry passing streamlet gives
A melancholy sound.

If on the azure of the east
I fix my wand'ring eye,
Love, grief, and M IRA , fill my soul;
I rave, I mourn, I cry.

And can I look to where the sun
Directs his ev'ning ray,
Nor call to mind an hapless friend
Who lingers life away?

Yes, yes, I yield, unhappy youth!
Whene'er I think of thee;
I yield the dearly purchas'd prize,
Superior misery.

But tho' unequal in the strife,
I some distinction claim;
Ills and misfortunes not a few
Adorn my growing name.

Fate's iron pencil has engrav'd
On either pensive brow,
Some leading features of distress,
Some well-touch'd tints of woe.

Alike black envy's blasting fang
And rooted spite we prove;
Alike we shed the secret tear
Of disappointed love.

Alike, deceitful hope usurps
Our unsuspecting breast;
An artful minister of woe,
Ingenious to molest.

An endless croud of ills, a sad
Variety of pain,
Cross issues, and tormenting fears,
Compose his dreadful train.

Thrice happy they, who gain from heav'n
A calm unruffled life,
Of tearless sorrow, silent woe,
Uninterrupted grief.

Abstracted from this busy scene,
Agreed with all around,
They steal from life, unfelt the pain,
Incurable the wound.

Such be the tenor of my days,
And such my latter end;
And such (he asks no more) may heav'n
Bestow upon my friend.