Classic Poem

ELEGY I.

Children of Fancy, whither are ye fled?
Where have ye borne those hope-enliven'd hours,
That once with myrtle garlands bound my head,
That once bestrew'd my vernal path with flowers?

In yon fair vale, where blooms the beechen grove,
Where winds the slow wave through the flowery plain,
To these fond arms you led the tyrant, Love,
With Fear and Hope and Folly in his train.

My lyre, that, left at careless distance, hung
Light on some pale branch of the osier shade,
To lays of amorous blandishment you strung,
And o'er my sleep the lulling music play'd:

" Rest, gentle youth! while on the quivering breeze
Slides to thine ear this softly-breathing strain;
Sounds that move smoother than the steps of Ease,
And pour oblivion in the ear of Pain.

" In this fair vale eternal Spring shall smile,
And Time unenvious crown each roseate hour;
Eternal Joy shall every care beguile,
Breathe in each gale, and bloom in every flower.

" This silver stream, that down its crystal way
Frequent has led thy musing steps along,
Shall, still the same, in sunny mazes play,
And with its murmurs melodise thy song.

" Unfading green shall these fair groves adorn;
Those living meads immortal flowers unfold;
In rosy smiles shall rise each blushing morn,
And every evening close in clouds of gold.

" The tender Loves that watch thy slumbering rest,
And round thee flowers and balmy myrtles strew,
Shall charm, through all approaching life, thy breast,
With joys for ever pure, for ever new.

" The genial power that speeds the golden dart,
Each charm of tender passion shall inspire;
With fond affection fill the mutual heart,
And feed the flame of ever-young desire.

" Come, gentle Loves! your myrtle garlands bring;
The smiling bower with cluster'd roses spread;
Come, gentle airs! with incense-dropping wing
The breathing sweets of vernal odour shed.

" Hark, as the strains of swelling music rise,
How the notes vibrate on the favouring gale!
Auspicious glories beam along the skies,
And powers unseen the happy moments hail!

" Ecstatic hours! so every distant day
Like this serene on downy wings shall move;
Rise crown'd with joys that triumph o'er decay,
The faithful joys of Fancy and of Love."