Classic Poem

Like fairy groupes beneath the forest shade,
With moonlight faintly scatter'd o'er the scene,
In long perspective stretching to the view,
The shadowy forms of memory convene.

With mimic art they past events pourtray,
Act every scene of pain and pleasure o'er,
They touch the secret springs of grief and joy,
And make us feel whate'er we felt before.

But still retreating further into shade,
Imperfect forms the dim-seen visions wear,
Faint and more faint is each impression still,
'Till quite dissolv'd they vanish into air.

Some whose strong features ne'er can be eras'd
By time or distance, undefac'd remain,
And while surrounding objects disappear,
They stand alone amid the dusky plain.

Whoe'er forgets his early first remove
From the dear haunts of infancy and home,
How home no more, (since from their lov'd abode
The tenants of the humble cot must roam).

The new awaken'd love of novelty,
A love so powerful in the human mind,
Regret at leaving each familiar face,
And each accustom'd object far behind,

By turns impress'd the youthful wand'rer's breast
With new emotions never felt before,
As with slow march the rustic cavalcade
Retreated from the peaceful cottage door,

With lingering looks they bid a long farewell
To every well known object as they pass,
Each shelt'ring tree which screen'd them from the sun,
Each little hillock crown'd with verdant grass;

And oft their vagrant feet would turn aside,
To bid some long-lov'd fav'rite haunt adieu,
Some spot where ev'ning's latest sunbeams play'd,
Some flow'ry dell where spring's first blossoms grew.

And as they trac'd the daisy-dappl'd meads,
Perhaps unconscious fell one glist'ning tear,
While towards their future home they turn'd their eye,
And thought, will such delightful scenes be there.

But when at last the narrow bounds were pass'd
Beyond whose limits they had never stray'd,
When to their wond'ring and admiring eyes
They saw a new and lovelier world display'd —

Fir'd by the joy which novelty bestows,
Each transient thought of sorrow soon was o'er,
Hope beam'd again in every smiling eye,
And fond regrets and fears were felt no more.

Long in rememb'rance live events like these,
The scenes of childhood which will ever charm,
Fresh through succeeding years these pictures glow,
And e'en in age th' imagination warm.

On the warm heart long imag'd will remain,
That form that mien which taught it first to love;
Th' impression, rolling years can ne'er efface,
Nor will succeeding friendship that remove.

The scenes of past affection long survive;
Each courteous action, each expression kind,
The well remember'd tones of tenderness,
And looks which spoke the feelings of the mind.

The last farewell of a departing friend,
While with forebodings that you meet no more,
The hand belov'd desponding you resign,
And see him go for ever from your door.

The last expiring words of those we love,
The silent anguish of that mournful hour,
When death, dissolving nature's dearest ties,
Proves the whole force of his resistless power.

Could after ages of unmingled joy,
(If human life had joy unmix'd with pain,)
Efface strong characters of grief like these
From memory's mute, but ever busy train?

The wretch obnoxious to his country's laws
May 'scape the vengeance which awaits his crimes;
Th' uplifted sword of justice may evade,
And flee for safety into foreign climes —

But cannot flee from memory's bosom foes —
The dreadful phantoms, where he flies, pursue,
Each deed of horror faithful they pourtray,
And hold th' unwelcome picture in his view.

The shipwreck'd mariner on some wild strand,
Some desart isle amid the boundless deep,
Who through the dangers of the dreadful wreck,
Surviv'd alone his comrade's fate to weep;

Tho' his dear country from his longing view,
Unmeasur'd lengths of countless leagues divide;
The burning tropic, and the frigid zone,
Vast continents, and ocean's mighty tide —

Yet still that dearest spot of all the earth,
His native vale, in ev'ry scene will rise;
Its woods, its streams, his own paternal cot,
Glide in perpetual view before his eyes;

And each lov'd inmate of that lowly roof,
Each voice, each feature, of the friends so dear,
Each parting look, lives imag'd in his mind;
Each sigh, each sad adieu, he seems to hear.

The hardy Swiss, who, from his rock-girt vale,
His mountain lake and snow-crown'd hills afar,
From all th' attachments of his youth remov'd,
Pursues the desolating steps of war —

Not the dread scenes of the eventful field,
Not martial pomp, nor shouts of victory,
Not promises of honour, wealth, and fame,
Can banish thoughts of home or check the sigh.

And if that simple air so sweet and wild,
That once along his own paternal vale,
The goatherds to the list'ning echo sung,
Which gave its wild notes to the morning gale —

If these transporting sounds arrest his ear,
Instant what groupes of images arise —
The haunts, the loves, the pleasures of his youth,
In life's warm colours pass before his eyes.

A powerful impulse seizes on his mind,
Fearless of death, of danger, and of toil,
That air a talisman which danger charms —
He seeks with dauntless heart his native soil.

The varied scenes which on her canvas rise,
The gay descriptive muse to memory owes,
Her pencil paints them, and her magic light
O'er the bright views a vivid lustre throws.

Each lovely groupe of images she forms,
Receives its beauty from that pow'rful light,
Whose mild reflected radiance sweetly plays
O'er recollected scenes of past delight.