Classic Poem

'T IS o'er, the pleasing prospect's o'er!
My weary heart can hope no more—
Then welcome, wan despair;
Approach with all thy dreadful train!
Wild anguish, discontent, and pain,
And thorny pillow'd care!

Gay hope, and ease, and joy, and rest,
All, all that charms the peaceful breast,
For ever I resign.
Let pale anxiety instead,
That has not where to lay her head,
And lasting woe be mine.

It comes! I feel the painful woe—
My eyes for Solyman will flow
In silent grief again;
Who, wandering o'er some mountain drear,
Now haply sheds the pensive tear,
And calls on me in vain.

Perhaps, along the lonely shores,
He now the sea's blue breast explores,
To watch the distant sail;
Perhaps, on Sundah's hills forlorn,
He faints, with aching toil o'erborne,
And life's last spirits fail.

Ah, no! the cruel thought forbear;
Avaunt, thou fiend of fell despan.
That only death can'st give!
While Heav'n eternal rules above,
Almena yet may find her love,
And Solyman may live!