Classic Poem

3

Elphin, fair! with virtue blest,
Let not that virtue idly rest;
If rous'd, 'twill yield thee sure relief,
And banish far unmanly grief:
Think on that Pow'r whose arm can save,
Who e'en can snatch thee from the grave;
He bade my harp for thee be strung,
Prophetic lays he taught my tongue.
Though like a slender reed I grow,
Tost by the billows to and fro,
Yet still, by him inspir'd, my song
The weak can raise, confound the strong:
Am not I better, Elphin! say,
Than thousands of thy scaly prey?English