Classic Poem

Oft by the sloping outskirts of the wood,
Fond search thro' brake and bramble I pursu'd,
Intent, (nor could it with her lip compare,)
To cull the honey'd strawberry for my fair,
When at the village-dance her hand I caught,
My feet were light and restless as my thought,
By times, the coy extended kiss I stole,
While mutual glances stream'd the melting soul;
But when some wealthier youth her cheek imprest,
A thousand timid falsehoods sill'd my breast,
I rav'd, I wept, I curs'd the guiltless maid,
And at deep midnight sought a deeper shade,
Yet, soon, the partial heart was reconcil'd,
I own'd my frailty, and the angel smil'd.
She smil'd—thro' winding dell, by ozier'd stream,
The livelong summer-day she was my theme,
From every object of the boundless plain
I snatch'd some grace to decorate my stram,
Blue as the violet's bell her rolling eye,
Cowslip her front, her cheek the tulip's dye,
Her mouth carnation, hyacinth her hair,
Straight as the poplar, as the woodbine fair,
And from her nectarine breath, that fann'd my flame,
The peabloom and the scented clover came.
Yes, in the ready numbers as they flow'd,
My feelings flutter'd, and my wishes glow'd,
Unnumber'd monuments of truth I form'd,
Nought tir'd, with my own pleasing folly charm'd,
'Till smote at length by reason's temperate ray,
The transitory vision died away.

So have I seen, with brittle chain embost,
When the smooth river sleeps beneath the frost,
By tiny fingers rear'd an icey pile;
It's sparkling points the dazzled sight beguile,
Lo! proudly splendid in the solar beam,
Twinkle it's corners, it's thin columns gleam;
Till, melted quite, or on false surface plac'd,
Prone the moist structure lies, a shining waste!
Oh! W RAY , associate of the smiling hour
When dewey summer spread life's opening flow'r,
Long parted from my pleasure or my pain,
Where'er you wander, oh! accept this strain.
Whate'er it's lights disclose, or shades conceal,
Their force your kindred spirit best can feel;
Enthusiast of the wildly-simple scene,
In what romantic raptures have we been,
What gales favonian on our forehead blew,
Upon our ken what swelling beauties grew,
What radiant turrets, flamy spires would rise,
How green our haunts! how azure were our skies!
How musical the burnish'd billows roll'd,
And how the prospect gleam'd with living gold
Each slightest object, or of shore, or sea,
Was tenderest ecstacy when shar'd with thee,
For, ne'er, sublim'd by Feeling's social spell,
Did delicate sensations join so well,
Mutual our joy, and when condemn'd to part,
Ah! mutual, more than mutual was the smart;
From that sad moment paradisial bloom
And orient hues, are solitude and gloom!