Classic Poem

Long hath earth lain beneath the dark profound
Of Silent-footed, planet-crested night
Now from the chains of slumber soft, unbound
She springs from sleep to hail, the glorious birth of light

A solemn Hush lay on her hills and woods
Now as the day approaches, fast dispelling
For at the touch of the bright orient floods
Thousands of voices rise, in mingled murmurs swelling

First the suns glories tip the lofty hill
Then roll impetuous down the dusky vale
Sings sweet in light the pebbled crystal rill
And joy expands the buds, of flowers that woo the gale

O! I might sing of pastures meads & trees
Whose verdant hue is tinged with solar beams
And I might sing of morns fresh bracing breeze
That with awaking breath, riples the glassy-streams

And of the merry lark who 'soar's on high
Aye rising in his course toward the sun
Of his descending from the vaulted sky
To the expectant nest, when that sweet song is done

These I could sing, if thou wert near me now
Thou whom I love, my souls most fair delight
If the fair orbs that beam beneath thy brow
Shed on my darkling page their ray divinely bright

But no, great waters of the mighty deep
Howling like famished wolves roll us between
O! sad & bitter drops I mournful weep
To think of those vast leagues, of tossing billows green

Come from the fairy valley where thou dwellest
Shady and green, in Britains favoured isle
Come for all gloom & sadness thou dispellest,
And chase away my greif, with one sweet-sunny smile

Methinks I see thee sitting calm & lonely
Beneath th' umbrageous elm upon the lawn
Naught near thee but the woodland warblers only
Singing their matin song, and perhaps some gentle fawn

Or pearly dews, with thy light footstep brushing
Tripping as cheerful as the lambkin gay
Beside the cataract that thunderous rushing
Covers its shaken bank, with white churned bells and spray

Hark! Africa unto her desert calls thee
Where the bright sun pours his most fervid beams
Alas! the chain of love for aye enthrals me
My prisoned heart still pants in shifting dreams

I hear thy voice I see thy figure nightly
Thou; comest to me in midnight slum[b]er deep
And through the dark thy blue eyes glimmer brightly
Beaming upon me in, unquiet haunted-sleep

O! How I loved to hear thy low sweet singing
When evening threw her quiet shades around
The moon her mild light through the casement flinging
Seemed from the sky to list the half-angelic-sound

Thou to the scene a calmer beauty lending
With eyes steeped in the lingering light of song
And o'er the harp thy form so graceful bending
What melting notes then stole the dusky air along

O! when within thy still retired bower
Shall I once more hear that entrancing strain
Could I bring back the oft desired hour
My sad bereaved heart might beat with joy again

May I still hope for thy long wished returning?
Come swiftly o'er the dark & raging sea
Come for my soul with hope deferred is burning
Then will I sing a song worthy of morn and thee.