Classic Poem

Thrown on the desert cliff, with frantic eye,
Madly, I gaze the howling surge below,
Invoke, meek Pity, from the bursting sky,
And call the sullen deep, to share my woe.
Poor Exile, from the tender maid, I love!
Startled, the shipwreck of my hopes, I view,
Hark! the shrill winds, my plaintive cries reprove,
Caverns, abrupt, and horrid, murm'ring thro'.
Full oft, I lean, and cast a ling'ring glance
O'er the broad bosom of the toiling main,
And fear, and feel, I ne'er shall see, again,
The blessed barque, which bore my love, advance.
Hope , sits delightless, shiv'ring, by my side,
And Patience , drops, herself, a silent tear,
Wretch! do'st thou mark, a dim corse floating near;
Tis she! — and is the sea, thy dismal bier.
Thy mourners, the relentless blasts, that fly, —
At least, I hold thee, dead, at most, I wish to die.