Classic Poem

Cruel disease! Can there for beauty be
Against thy malice no security?
Must thou pursue her to this choice retreat?
Enough thy triumphs in her wonted seat,
The softer sex, whose epithet is fair;
How coudst thou follow or suspect her here?
But beauty does, like light, itself reveal;
No place can either's glorious beams conceal.

Thine, as destructive flames, too fatal shin'd,
And left no peace in either sex's mind.
The men with envy burn'd, and ev'n the fair,
When with their own, thy matchless charms compare,
Doubt, if they should or love, or envy most,
A finer form than they themselves can boast:
Repine not, lovely youth, if that be lost.
What hearts it gain'd thee! 'Twas no pride to please,
To whom that part was lost, which no disease,
Nor time, nor age, nor death itself can seize.
That part, which thou for ever will retain,
Fewer, but nobler victories will gain
And what all felt, when you in danger were,
Shews us how needful to our peace you are.

When death stood menacing the stroke so near,
That as on certain ills, we left to fear,
Grief seem'd to dart at once a speedier blow,
For less of life appear'd in us, than you;
Nor could you doubt our truth, all hearts were known,
Artless and open to you as your own.
Who feign'd to love you, now no longer would,
And who had hid their love, no longer could,
What prudence, fear, or modesty conceal'd,
The force of grief like tortures soon reveal'd:
Nor was the highest blam'd for an excess,
All own'd the moving cause deserv'd no less
Whate'er philosophers of old had taught,
Here the most sensible was wisest thought.
Silent they wept, nor ceas'd their flowing tears,
Unless to offer more availing prayers,
To which thy life the gracious powers grant,
For fears and prayers make threat'ning heav'n relent.

Go on, brave youth, in all the noblest arts,
And every virtue; exercise thy parts.
The world much will expect, and claim from thee,
But most thy gratitude is due to me,
Who' tho' of numbers, that thy friendship claim,
The least recorded in the leaves of fame,
The last in worth, am yet the first to show
What for thy safety we to heav'n owe,
Perhaps the only: less mankind incline
T'acknowledge favors, than at ills repine.

Of ten diseas'd, who heav'nly medicine gain'd,
Tho' all importunate alike complain'd,
And equal all the cure they sought, obtain'd,
But one return'd, and he like me unknown,
The blessing giv'n with grateful joy to own.