Classic Poem

Come , Inspiration, from thy vernal bow'r,
To thy celestial voice attune the lyre;
Smooth gliding strains in sweet profusion pour,
And aid my numbers with seraphic fire.

Under a lonely spreading oak I lay,
My head upon the daisied green reclin'd,
The ev'ning sun beam'd forth his parting ray,
The foliage bended to the hollow wind.

There gentle Sleep my acting pow'rs supprest,
The city's distant hum was heard no more;
Yet Fancy suffer'd not the mind to rest,
Ever obedient to her wakeful pow'r.

She led me near a crystal fountain's noise,
Where undulating waters sportive play;
Where a young comely swain, with pleasing voice,
In tender accents sung his sylvan lay.

“Adieu, ye baneful pleasures of the town!
“Farewell, ye giddy and unthinking throng!
“Without regret your foibles I disown;
“Themes more exalted claim the Muse's song.

“Your stony hearts no social feelings share;
“Your souls of distant sorrows ne'er partake;
“Ne'er do you listen to the needy pray'r,
“Nor drop a tear for tender pity's sake.

“Welcome, ye fields, ye fountains, and ye groves!
“Ye flow'ry meadows, and extensive plains!
“Where soaring warblers pour their plaintive loves,
“Each landscape cheering with their vocal strains.

“Here rural Beauty rears her pleasing shrine;
“She on the margin of each streamlet glows;
“Where, with the blooming hawthorn roses twine,
“And the fair lily of the valley grows.

“Here Chastity may wander unassail'd
“Thro' fields where gay seducers cease to rove;
“Where open Vice o'er Virtue near prevail'd;
“Where all is innocence, and all is love.

“Peace with her olive wand triumphant reigns,
“Guarding secure the peasant's humble bed;
“Envy is banish'd from the happy plains,
“And Defamation's busy tongue is laid.

“Health and Contentment usher in the morn,
“With jocund smiles they cheer the rural swain,
“For which the Peer to pompous titles born,
“Forsaken sighs, but all his sighs are vain.

“For the calm comforts of an easy mind,
“In yonder lonely cot delight to dwell,
“And leave the statesmen for the lab'ring hind,
“The regal palace for the lowly cell.

“Ye, who to Wisdom would devote your hours,
“And far from riot, far from discord stray!
“Look back disdainful on the city's tow'rs,
“Where Pride, where Folly point the slipp'ry way.

“Pure flows the limpid stream in crystal tides,
“Thro' rocks, thro' dens, and ever verdant vales,
“Till to the town's unhallow'd wall it glides,
“Where all its purity and lustre fails.”