Classic Poem

A FRAGMENT .

So sigh'd Horatio, on a tomb reclin'd,
Beneath a mouldering chapel's ivied wall:
His ruin'd hope o'ergloom'd his sickly mind,
Horatio, to whose lot was not denied
Keen Sensibility with all her woes:
By many a painful test his heart was tried;
His was the thorn, while others won the rose.

Yet, why should thorns his honest breast invade,
Since all the Charities were fondled there?
Why should thy seat, Benevolence, be made
The haunt of hapless Grief and pining Care?

Fill'd with an ample soul, that would adorn
Fair Independence, he began his day:
Full many a promise smil'd upon his morn:
Morn chang'd to eve — each promise died away.

He wish'd, — nor can you call his wishes bold;
He hop'd, — for sure his friends were not a few;
He hop'd, — for many a flattering tale was told,
And the safe harbour pointed to his view.

The soft delusion play'd before his sight
Just to mislead; — for soon, alas! he found
His dawn of joy o'ercast with sudden night,
His air-built vision totter'd to the ground.