Classic Poem

Hark! the sad knell of Hope's departed hour;
At each dull pause it vibrates on my heart!
O! faithful Muse, exert thy wonted power;
Some magic fiction to my mind impart; —
Muse , I will call thee skilful and sublime,
If thou wilt cheer the sombrous brow of Time; —
Ah! that thou couldst was once my proudest boast!
Since then, my Muse, my greatest bliss is lost,
Maternal smiles, that blest each rising morn, —
Maternal , that soften'd every care,
And grated my bosom, — rose without a thorn !
Death from my bosom snatch'd that rose so fair;
The myrtle blossoms still, — that once destroy'd,
Leaves it a desert, cheerless, bleak and void.