Classic Poem

Arise, O Petrarch! from th' Elysian bow'rs
With never-fading myrtles twin'd,
And fragrant with ambrosial flow'rs,
Where to thy Laura thou again art join'd,
Arise, and hither bring the silver lyre,
Tun'd by thy skilful hand
To the soft notes of elegant desire,
With which o'er many a land
Was spread the fame of thy disastrous love;
To me resign the vocal shell,
And teach my sorrows to relate
Their melancholy tale so well
As may ev'n things inanimate,
Rough mountain oaks and desert rocks, to pity move.