Classic Poem

High o'er the silver rocks I roved
To wander from the form I loved,
In hopes fond Fancy would be kind
And steal my Mary from my mind;
'Twas Twilight and the lunar beam
Sailed slowly o'er Winander's stream.
As down its sides the water strayed
Bright on a rock the moonbeam played.
It shone half-sheltered from the view
By pendent boughs of tressy yew,
True, true to love but false to rest,
So fancy whispered to my breast;
So shines her forehead smooth and fair
Gleaming through her sable hair.
I turned to Heaven, but viewed on high
The languid lustre of her eye,
The moon's mild radiant edge I saw
Peeping a black-arched cloud below,
Nor yet its faint and paly beam
Could tinge its skirt with yellow gleam.
I saw the white waves o'er and o'er
Break against a curved shore,
Now disappearing from the sight
Now twinkling regular and white;
Her mouth, her smiling mouth can show
As white and regular a row.
Haste--haste, some god indulgent prove
And bear me, bear me to my Love.
Then might--for yet the sultry hour
Glows from the Sun's oppressive power,
Then might her bosom soft and white
Heave upon my swimming sight,
As these two Swans together ride
Upon the gently swelling tide.
Haste, haste, some god indulgent prove,
And bear me, bear me to my Love.