Classic Poem

Let other youths dissolve in am'rous fires,
And breathe in melting lays their soft desires;
With songs of wit, and sonnets void of care,
Gay as their hopes, and as their hearts sincere;
To spotless charms unfading trophies raise,
Of real love and undissembled praise:
Be theirs the blessings which they pant to prove,
The garland gather'd from the myrtle grove;
The gracious glance of condescending maids;
Love long to last, and fame that never fades:
For them may Venus light the genial bed,
By hallow'd Hymen honourable made;
And crown th' embrace of many wedded years
With gen'rous sons, to emulate their fires;
Like them be blest with all their wishes crave,
A parent's joy, and age's honour'd grave.

F AR other hopes my hapless breast inspire;
Far other themes demand the muse's fire!
With me the dear rewards of love are o'er;
For me the myrtle garlands bloom no more!
Guilt, horrid guilt! with blasting violence views
Their brightest buds, and withers all their boughs!
In cheerless darkness wraps the vivid seene,
Where soft affection held her early reign;
And chaste enjoyment shed her constant ray,
To light, with radiance mild, my years away!

O FT , as unseen, I seek the shady grove,
Seenes of young joy, and haunts of early love;
" The painted meadow, or the purling stream, "
Where fancy feeds, and where the muses dream;
Where laughing loves and naked graces play
In sportive gambols all the live-long day:
Sudden I see your fancy'd form arise;
See blooming beauties skim before my eyes;
See ev'ry love, and ev'ry charming grace,
Smile in your eye, or languish on your face.
I closer gaze — when, lo! a mournful train
Of weeping virtues cloud the radiant seene!
Nor love, nor blooming beauty straight appears,
But ev'ry look a dismal horror wears;
Obsour'd by guilt, the dimpling siniles decay,
And ail your glowing graces fade away!
Sad, then, I sit me down; — or wand'ring rove
Thro' ev'ry walk, and weep our ruin'd love:
While conscious bow'rs, and love-frequented shades,
Long-winding walks, and intermingled glades,
In fond remembrance op'ning to my view,
Refresh my sorrow, and my sighs renew;
Deep plaintive murmurs perish on my tongue,
Or flow away in melancholy song;
While all around the pensive groves complain,
Sigh ev'ry sigh, and murmur ev'ry strain!

B UT , Sylvia , what avails the murm'ring glade?
The sighing grove, or sympathizing shade?
Their seeming sorrows unsuccessful prove,
To soothe the woes of disappointed love;
To bid the black-wing'd seasons backward roll,
Clear the foul stain, or wash the guilty soul;
To beauty's form fair innocence restore,
Hush the false tongue, bid slander wound no more:
Your crimes, your follies, rise in endless view,
And my heart swells, my tears flow forth for you!

F OR you! — but why invite you forth to rove
Thro' scenes of sorrow and desponding love?
Scenes that (for so the ruling pow'rs decree)
Must still be view'd, and still bewail'd by me!
Enough for you — with solitary care
To view your fall, and shed a secret tear;
Careless of what the mourning muse may say,
When wild with sorrow bursts the love-lorn lay!
Enough for you — whene'er my thoughts I cast
On all the joys of youth and virtue past;
When I reflect (forgive this swelling sigh,
And this big tear just trickling from my eye,)
When peaceful innocence and pleasure play'd,
With gentle love beneath our native shade;
And bade our hearts, to quiet or care unknown,
Confess their charming influence alone!
Enough for you — to grant the meed I crave,
For me the willow's paly wreath to weave;
And softly bind it on my youthful brow,
Mark of my pain, and merit of my woe!
This sad indulgence will reward my lays,
Approve my grief, and give me all my praise;
So, when your sorrows cease, for cease they must,
And your fair form shall moulder into dust;
May some sad youth, by pity's lore improv'd,
By virtue honour'd, and the muse belov'd,
Due to your fate, devote the mournful line,
And join your mem'ry as your love to mine.
To mine! — ah, no! withdraw the wishful eye,
Check the soft tear, and still the rising sigh;
Scatter the willow wreath you weave for me,
Who, idly raving, pour my plaint to thee!
To thee! who doated on my strains before;
To thee! whose eyes shall ne'er behold me more;
Praise all your virtues, number all your charms,
And fold, untainted, fold them in my arms!

T HE vision's past — the dear delusion's o'er;
Returning reason rears her vanquish'd pow'r;
Before her swift the magic scenes decay,
That passion gilded with delusive ray;
Your guilt, your shame, arising to her view,
She tears the veil, and paints their real hue;
Unmantled follies stand around confest,
And wounded virtues bare the bleeding breast;
While none remains of all the train ,
But soft-ey'd Pity's idly ling'ring strain!

F AREWEL , weak maid! unmercifully long,
I pain your ear with an ungentle song;
But, ere I leave you, listen to the lay
That wears no woe, and weeps no worth away;
Friendship refin'd inspires the serious theme,
And reason lights it with her radiant beam;
While this big thought is lab'ring in my breast,
That soon the poet, soon the song will rest!
Soon will my sorrows, my reflections, end;
You lose a lover, and lament a friend!

W HERE meek-rob'd Penitence, of placid mien,
Her eye mild-beaming, and her brow serene,
Sedately sits; uplift a sigh sincere;
Her smile alone will ruin'd love repair;
Smooth the rough path that leads to virtue's God,
And urge you ling'ring on the arduous road;
Your wav'ring soul with confidence confirm,
Inspire with caution, and with courage arm;
Bid it at vice with indignation rise,
Scorn all below, and hope it's native skies,
Contemn the pleasures that arise from sense,
Dare to be good, and aim at excellence.
And tho' condemn'd by dooming pow'rs above
To live far distant from the man you love;
The irksome path of life alone to tread,
No friend to counsel, and no hand to lead;
Regarding Heav'n will glad your weary way,
And blaze around a reconciling ray;
Winning and kind, the wand'ring wish reprove,
And grant in grace what is deny'd in love;
Mi'd to forgive, and piteous of the past,
Release from life, and crown with joy at last;
Command the blow that turns your frame to dust,
Bids grief subside, and ev'ry sigh be hush'd;
Bids sure oblivion o'er your follies creep,
And lull you peaceful in eternal sleep.