Classic Poem

W AS ever in the wilds of chance,
Where atoms leap in frolic dance,
A jewel of so bright a ray,
As that auspicious hour's delay,
Which to my feelings could impart
The air of grace, but not the art;
The polish'd lustre of the mind,
That sense adorn'd, and wit refin'd?
Alas! how fugitive the hour,
Chac'd by capricious Fortune's power!
With her consent I 'd there have staid
As long as Taste the charm obey'd.
A youthful spirit, conquering Time ,
Shone as the lustre of its prime;
To him , each virtue, partial grown,
Made of his countenance her throne .
Accomplish'd, though unborrow'd grace,
Touch'd with its wand his manly face;
And Wisdom, proud of Beauty's aid,
Was in her panoply array'd. —
The mirth rever'd, and blameless jest,
Enlighten'd and improv'd the guest.
The hair was grey, Time ancient grew; —
But none discover'd how it flew.
Blest, were I now as old as he!
With Age I 'd never disagree,
If such a net for every heart
The Loves , though wrinkled, should impart.