Classic Poem

She comes! how lovely are her smiles,
The ever glorious Morn!
Up from old Ocean and his isles,
Her rosy chariot borne
By the winged steeds of Light,
Spurning far the shades of night;
While Darkness gathers round her head
Her heavy wings which late lay spread
Wide o'er the sleeping world;
She quits her throne; she flies away—
She flings up her usurped way—
To shame and exile hurled.
Thus, Falsehood, fly, in that blest hour,
When Truth takes up for aye her long lost right and power!