Classic Poem

(In which the Author had taken Shelter during a violent Storm),

UPON SEEING AN IDIOTIC YOUTH SEATED IN THE CHIMNEY-CORNER, CARESSING A BROOM.

'Twas on a night of wildest storms,
When loudly roar'd the raving main, —
When dark clouds shew'd their shapeless forms,
And hail beat hard the cottage pane, —

Tom Fool sat by the chimney-side,
With open mouth and staring eyes;
A batter'd broom was all his pride, —
It was his wife, his child, his prize!

Alike to him if tempests howl,
Or summer beam its sweetest day;
For still is pleas'd the silly soul,
And still he laughs the hours away.

Alas! I could not stop the sigh,
To see him thus so wildly stare, —
To mark, in ruins, Reason lie,
Callous alike to joy and care.

God bless thee, thoughtless soul! I cried;
Yet are thy wants but very few:
The world's hard scenes thou ne'er hast tried;
Its cares and crimes to thee are new.

The hoary hag, who cross'd thee so,
Did not unkindly vex thy brain;
Indeed she could not be thy foe,
To snatch thee thus from grief and pain.

Deceit shall never wring thy heart,
And baffled hope awake no sighs;
And true love, harshly forc'd to part,
Shall never shall with tears thine eyes.

Then long enjoy thy batter'd broom,
Poor merry fool! and laugh away
" Till Fate shall bid thy reason bloom
In blissful scenes of brighter day.