Classic Poem

Where is the Muse, with soft and plaintive grace
Which steals from Sorrow's cheek the silent tear
Beguiles the spirit, even in Death's embrace,
And soothes the sadness of the Mourner's ear

Thy melting strains, thy harmony divine —
Prepare, soft Muse! with nicest, gentlest art
Oh thou — by Heaven inspir'd! — 'tis only thine
To touch the feelings of a Father's heart.

Is there a pang which wounds the conscious soul,
And rends the tend'rest ties of life in twain?
Ev'n gen'rous Friendship dares not to console,
And helpless Pity bleeds in ev'ry vein.

Ev'n the kind Angel, whose benignant care,
O'er the sad couch of faded Sickness hung,
Beheld the blooming hopes which perish'd there,
And gentle Comfort falter'd on her tongue.

" Oh, form'd to soothe Distress and lighten Care, "
And check the dire advance of slow Disease;
The noble heart, that's wither'd by Despair,
Shall feel Maria 's worth in deeds like these.

Alas! nor tears, nor tenderness, nor art,
Cou'd save the darling youth, belov'd so well;
Relentless Death prepar'd his two-edg'd dart,
And there the virtuous pride of B K fell!

Say, can the Muse, by feeble Fancy led,
Paint the dear prospect of a Parent's bliss;
The radiant morn, which soft refulgence shed,
And all extinguished, in a night like this?

Ah, no! — In Fancy's eye, a brighter scene
Gleams thro' the horrors of funereal gloom:
See! the bright Spirit, sprightly and serene,
Where youth shall flourish in immortal bloom.

Encircled now by radiant joys Above,
Oh yield him, B K , to the blest decree
For Heaven alone — for scenes of endless Love
He left a Father and a Friend like thee.

— One tender plant is still expos'd on earth,
To many a tempest rude, and treach'rous gale;
Thy fost'ring hand must guard its rising worth,
And watch its tender growth in Wisdom's vale.

Bright may its vivid blossoms soon expand —
Reflect the sun, and drink the morning dew;
With richest fragrance fill the conscious land,
And bless the gen'rous soil where first it grew.