Classic Poem

I.

Whene'er those sainted sounds I hear,
A Sylph flies round my youthful heart,
To guard it well from LOVE , for fear
I should unknowing with it part.
Blest Sylph, whene'er a radiant eye,
Or rosy cheek'd soft glancing fair,
Awakes my bosom's warmest sigh,
Watch well my heart, and linger there.

II.

Those sacred Isles, that frowning lie
On Scotia's rocky Western shore,
Where holiest saint was doomed to die,
And guard the Isles for evermore:
Will still their rugged beauties wear,
Defying every sea-god's power;
For legends say, St. Columb there
His wings extends at midnight's hour.

III.

Thus, Sylph, do thou thy pennons lend;
Let me defy dread Cupid's power;
Be mine the smile, and let him bend
His bow in vain each passing hour.
And, as the saint extends his form,
To shield from harm his fav'rite Isles;
So let thy wings shield heart as warm
As e'er yet lit at woman's smiles.