Classic Poem

On the A NNIVERSARY

The three weird sisters, on the dreary strand,
Foresaw this day, twining the fatal thread,
And would have stopt, but, urg'd by Jove's command,
They spun the rest, and weeping firm'd the deed.

O, day accurs'd! that saw, her last adieu,
To maiden honour, innocence, and same;
Nor night's black mantle round thy visage drew,
Nor sent one cloud to cover S YLVIA' n shame.

On thee no morn shall rouse the grateful song,
No gladding sun-beam wake the flow'ry dye;
But Phaebus roll his rayless car along,
In awful sadness thro' the mirky sky.

Vile birds obscene shall range the sulph'ry air,
The boding raven spread her sooty plume;
The shrivell'd bat, the moping owl be there,
And cluttring add new horror to the gloom.

The hand of dread shall seal the lips of joy,
Pleasure, aghast, forget her syren song;
Amazement petrify the festive boy,
And freeze the vig'rous spirits of the young.

Terror shall range the fav'rite haunts of love,
Fear's palsy'd arm embrace the poplar shade;
The graves pale habitants traverse the grove,
While verdure withers at their baleful tread.

Not even more terrible that dreadful day,
When worlds shall stagger, and creation shake;
When chaos shall echo, and archangels say,
" Be time no more! — ye sleeping dead awake. "