Classic Poem

The star, that paves the blue serene,
Or sparkles on the brow of even,
Courts from the sun that lucid mien,
Which gems the glittering mine of heaven:

The breeze, that spreads its Cassia wing,
Perfumes the breath of scentless air
From rich bouquets, which jocund Spring
Selects from Nature's gay parterre:

Thus too, Philenia, muse supreme,
Whose clear, reflecting pages shine,
Like the translucent, crystal stream,
The mirror of a soul divine:

Thus, from thy lyre, Menander's ear
The song-inspired vibration caught;
Thus, from thy hand, his temples wear
A wreath, which thou alone hast wrought.

To thee his muse aspired with pride,
And sealed her carol with thy name,
Whose signet gave, whaTheaven demed,
A passport at the door of Fame.

True merit shines with native light,
Obscurest shades ne'er cloud its blaze;
For, diamond like, it gilds the night,
And dazzles with unborrowed rays.

Hence, with a zeal of equal flame,
The world has with Philenia vied,
While Admiration winged her fame,
And modest Merit blushed to hide.

But, ah, thy lavish praise forbear!
'Twere madness to believe it due;
For none, but Nature's fondest care,
Deserves a glance of Fame from you.

To me no charms of verse belong;
The tints of every classick grace,
Mild Contemplation, nurse of song,
Beamed from thy muse-illumined face.

When thy " lorn pathos " fills the gale,
Wild Fancy learns of Truth to weep,
Romance forgets her tragick tale,
And Werter lulls his griefs to sleep.

Serene, amid the bursting storm,
You check the frenzied passion's scope,
And, radiant as an angel form,
Smile on the death-carved urn of Hope.

Thy magick tears leave Slander mute,
They melt the Stoick heart of snow;
And every willow on thy lute,
Has proved a laurel for thy brow.