Classic Poem

The sun shines potent from the mid-day sky,
His rays glance dazzling from the tinsel'd head,
The noon-tide fervour smooths the glossy hair,
And aids the blushes of the panting maid.

The rustic gallants, with their redd'ning prize,
Retire exulting from the dusty street,
Quaff the cool beer, and mix'd with kisses bland,
And sorceful sighs, the tender tale repeat.

While coyly passive sits the modest fair,
With breast wild-throbbing, and dejected eye;
Or should she kind adjust the rosy lip,
Or court th' embrace, no envious tell-tale nigh.

On yonder board the bowl and tumbler mark,
More costly liquor, and a richer Miss;
Fast by her side the brawny stripling smiles,
Nor values fix-pence, while he gains a kiss.

If such the blessings of a low estate,
Who would not joy to guide the shining share,
To whirl the fiail, ingulf the polish'd spade,
Or tune the reed beside a fleecy care?

Name not the biting blast the peasant bears,
The face embrown'd, the blister-swelling hand;
A day like this rewards an age of toil,
Softens the voice of many a rough command,

But, lo! appears amid yon jovial crew
A brow deep-furrow'd by the hand of care,
'Tis D AMON'S — sorrow blanks his native bloom,
And musing melancholy dulls his air.

In vain D ORINDA , fondling, strives to ease
The sorrows rankling in his pensive breast;
In vain his cheek is pal'd with jocund blow,
In vain his hand with artful squeeze is prest.

No kind endearments will the youth return,
Tho' instant thus she courts the balmy bliss,
And oft averts the radiance of her eyes,
In fond expectance of the ravish'd kiss.

Be gallant, D AMON ! with the willing maid,
Like others, toy the laughing hours away;
Commix'd with rugged labour's lusty sons,
Why more resin'd and delicate than they?

Can the smooth pebble of the playful boy
For ever curl the surface of the deep?
Can C LARA censure what she does not see,
Or read inconstancy upon thy lip?

Still art thou gloomy — Consolation's vain:
Can consolation bring the virgin here?
Till then, you feel the weighty hand of woe,
And drop in secret disappointment's tear.