Classic Poem

To the Right Hon. Francis, Earl of Moira, &c

How many with'ring Years of dull despair,
Have o'er my fated front, relentless, roll'd,
Since first, beneath a M OIRA'S partial care,
My happier moments wav'd their wings of gold!
Ah me! and must I never more behold
The glorious orb of day in gladness rise?
No more salute, with rapture-beaming eyes,
The glimm'ring Star that shuts the Shepherd's fold?
No more! if led not, by Thy lenient hand,
To the lone hermitage of learned Ease;
Where pensive Joy, may, tenderly, expand
His blooms, sore-shatter'd by the blighting breeze;
And a New, M ENTAL E DEN , by degrees,
Bud forth, best P ATRON ! at thy soft command!