Classic Poem

From ev'ry quarter of the vast domains,—
Earth's whole expanse,—o'er which the sov'reign
reigns,
Far as the clank of horses' hoofs resounds,
Far as the junks seek ocean's utmost bounds,
Ten thousand off'rings, as in days of yore,
Still to this day their varied treasures pour
Into th' imperial coffers:—but of all
The bearded rice is chief and principal.
But now, alas! the fields are till'd in vain;
Day follows day, and still no show'r of rain;
Morn after morn each thirsty blade droops down,
And ev'ry garden tint is chang'd to brown;
While I, heart-stricken, on the prospect gaze,
And, as the infant that his hands doth raise
To clutch his mother's breast, so to the heav'n
I lift mine eyes to pray that rain be giv'n.
Oh! may the cloud whose fleecy form is seen
To rest yon distant mountain-peaks between,
Wafted across to where the ocean-god
Makes in the foaming waves his dread abode,
Meet with the vapours of the wat'ry plain,
Then here returning, fall as grateful rain!