Classic Poem

Now Night, her star-enamell'd robe,
O'er half the dreary darken'd globe,
In solemn state has hung;
Lone now the distant murm'ring flood,
And lone the thicket, grove and wood,
Where warblers lately sung.

The distant town, behind yon steep,
Now silent lies, and sunk in sleep,
Dark, solitary, sad;
No voice, no sound can reach my ear,
Save shepherd's dogs who haply hear
The Midnight traveller's tread.

Amid this calm, this silence deep,
I wander forth to sigh, to weep,
And breathe my hopeless flame.
To rocks and woods I still complain,
To woods and rocks, alas! in vain
I sigh Matilda's name.

O Love! thou dear, distracting bliss,
Assist my bosom to express
Those pains, those joys I feel;
Joy, that enraptures while I gaze,
And pain, that tortures, while the blaze
Of love I must conceal.

Sweet is her form, her features meek,
And bright the crimson of her cheek
Beyond the roses glow.
Hers is the heart, with softness blest,
And hers each worth that warms the breast
Of innocence below.

But, ah! for ever we must part!
Forget her then, thou throbbing heart,
Nor idly thus complain.
Truth, prudence, reason, all can teach
That, Happiness, which mocks our reach,
But aggravates our pain .