Classic Poem

Ye Fair, who pant for honour's deathless meed,
Ambitious of the wreath to Laura due —
In her contemplate, though a distant view,
Charms that are self-adorn'd! and musing read
How Innocence and Peace to Heav'n can lead! —
How God is to be lov'd! — Her glitt'ring hue
Has dropt a beam that others may pursue,
To mansions for a seat in bliss decreed!
Heard ye that voice? You heard the Angels there,
Tuning her breath: — but not less eloquent
Her silence threw its mantle of reserve,
And grac'd the parting sound. — Be these your care!
But no attractions can her form present —
Or lustre of the mind her fame deserve.