Classic Poem

— Ajutt, more beauteous than th' willowy shade,
— Fragrant as Mountain-Thyme, enchanting maid!
— Than Morse's teeth thy fingers whiter are,
— Thy beauteous feet more nimble than the hare;
— Thy smiles as grateful as dissolving snow,
— When welcome sun-shine bids our lakes o'erflow;
— Far as e'er thought can trace I'll thee pursue,
— And be thy lover and thy guardian too;
— No pow'r shall Ajutt from her love divide,
— Nor midland cliffs, nor eastern caverns hide;
— Not he, of maids the foe, that giant fell,
— Curs'd Haffgufa, that loves in caves to dwell;
— Nor Amarock, that ev'ry breast alarms,
— Should tear my beauteous Ajutt from my arms;
— And may that wretch, if such a wretch there be,
— That, envious, would divide my love and me,
— Be in his icy bed in silence laid,
— 'Reft of his bow, nor wept by faithful maid;
— And in the land of souls when he arrives,
— And new to life in that dread clime revives,
— May then his scull the burning drops receive
— From starry lamps, nor have one friend to grieve. —