Classic Poem

A SONG .

As with Louisa late I sat,
In yonder secret grove,
How fondly did each bosom beat,
And pour its tale of love!

Eve's tuneful bird, with sweetest lay,
Inspir'd the tranquil place:
Eve's silver star, with purest ray,
Beam'd on the chaste embrace.

But now the tender scene is o'er,
What tongue my grief can tell?
In yonder grove I meet no more
The maid I love so well!

Yet still, at evening's custom'd hour,
With feelings sadly sweet,
I seek, in Love's forsaken bower,
My solitary seat.

There Philomela's tuneful tongue
Still sooths my pensive ear:
Ah! 'tis the same melodious song
Louisa lov'd to hear!

And still I joy to mark, the while,
The star of Venus shine;
Which saw the blush, the tear, the smile,
That spoke Louisa mine!

Her dear idea finely tied
To each lov'd object there,
I still behold her at my side,
And clasp the shadowy fair.