Classic Poem

So Philomela from the umbrageous wood
In strains melodious mourns her tender brood.
Snatch'd from the nest by some rude Phrygian's hand,
On some lone bough the warbler takes her stand;
The livelong nights she mourns the cruel wrong,
And hill and dale resound the plaintive song.

For as a watchman, from some rock on high,
O'er the wide main extends his boundless eye,
Through such a space of air with thundering sound,
At every leap the immortal coursers bound.