Classic Poem

Still shall unthinking man substantial deem
The forms that fleet through life's deceitful dream!
On clouds, where Fancy's beam amusive plays,
Shall heedless Hope his towering fabric raise!
Till at Death's touch the fairy visions fly,
And real scenes rush dismal on the eye,
And from elysium's soothing slumbers torn
The startled soul awakes, to think—and mourn.
O Ye, whose hours in jocund train advance,
To Joy's soft voice whose sprightly spirits dance,
Who flowery scenes in endless view survey
Glittering in beams of visionary day!
O yet while Fate delays th' impending woe
Be rous'd to thought, anticipate the blow;
Lest, like the lightning's glance, the sudden ill
Flash to confound, and penetrate to kill;
Lest thus involv'd in deep funereal gloom
With me ye bend o'er some untimely tomb,
Pour your wild ravings in Night's frighted ear,
And half pronounce Heaven's sacred doom severe.
Wife! Beauteous! Good!—O every grace combin'd,
That charms the eye, that captivates the mind!
Fair—as the flower just opening to the view,
Whose leaves the Morning bathes in pearly dew!
Sweet—as the downy-pinion'd Gale, that roves
Fraught with the fragrance of Arabian groves!
Mild—as the strains, that, at the close of day
Warbling remote, along the vales decay!——
Yet, why with these compar'd? What tints so fine,
What sweetness, mildness, can be match'd with thine?
Why roam abroad? Since still to Fancy's eyes
I see I see the lov'd Idea rise.
Still let me gaze, and every care beguile,
Gaze on that cheek, where all the Graces smile;
That soul-expressing eye, whence, mildly bright
Fair Goodness beams on the transported sight;
That polish'd brow, where Wisdom sits serene,
Each feature forms, and dignifies the mien:
Still let me listen, while her words impart
Delight deep-thrilling through the glowing heart,
And all the soul, each tumult charm'd away,
Yields, gently led, to Virtue's easy sway.
Adorn'd by thee, bright Virtue, Age is young,
And music warbles from the faltering tongue;
Thy ray creative chears the clouded brow,
Flushes the faded cheek with rosy glow,
Illumes the joyless aspect, and supplies
A lively lustre to the languid eyes;
Each look, each accent, while it awes, invites;
And Age with every youthful grace delights:
But when Youth's bloom reflects thy brightening beams,
On the rapt view the blaze resistless streams,
Th' ecstatic breast triumphant Virtue warms,
And Beauty dazzles with angelic charms.
Ah whither fled!—ye dear illusions stay!—
Lo, pale and silent lies the lovely clay!
How are the roses on that lip decay'd
Which Health so late in vivid bloom array'd!
Health on her form each sprightly grace bestow'd,
With active life each speaking feature glow'd.
Fair was the flower, and soft the vernal sky;
Elate with hope we deem'd no tempest nigh;
When lo, a whirlwind's instantaneous gust
Laid all its beauties withering in the dust.
All cold the hand, that sooth'd Woe's weary head!
All quench'd the eye, the pitying tear that shed!
All mute the voice, whose pleasing accents stole,
Infusing balm, into the rankled soul!—
O Death, why arm with cruelty thy power!
Why spare the weed, and lop the lovely flower!
Why fly thy shafts in lawless error driv'n!
Is Virtue then no more the care of heav'n!—
But, peace, bold thought! be still, my bursting heart!
We, not Eliza, felt the fateful dart.
Scap'd the dark dungeon does the slave complain,
Nor bless the hand that broke the galling chain!
Say, pines not Virtue for the lingering morn,
On this dark desart doom'd to stray forlorn!
Where Reason's meteor-rays, with sickly glow,
O'er the dun gloom a dreadful glimmering throw,
Disclosing dubious to th' affrighted eye
O'erwhelming mountains tottering from on high,
Black billowy seas by endless tempests toss'd,
And weary ways in wildering labyrinths lost.
O happy stroke, that breaks the bonds of clay,
Darts through the bursting gloom the blaze of day,
And wings the soul with boundless flight to soar,
Where dangers threat, and fears alarm, no more.
Transporting thought! here let me wipe away
The falling tear, and wake a bolder lay.
But ah! afresh the swimming eye o'erflows—
Nor check the tear that streams for human woes—
Lo, o'er her dust, in speechless anguish, bend
The hopeless Parent, Husband, Brother, Friend!—
Vain hope of mortal man!—But cease thy strain,
Nor sorrow's dread solemnity profane;
Mix'd with yon drooping Mourners, o'er her bier
In silence shed the sympathetic tear.