Classic Poem

How can my friend expect the chearful lay,
Which gladly to my Laura I would pay?
But Winter's sickening ray benums my powers,
And my ideas suit the sober hours:
Long nights and whistling winds and beating rain,
Present a theme and ask the gloomy strain—
A gloomy strain to thee must thankless prove,
Whose soul's the seat of chearfulness and love.
Can I be joyful while my mournful eye
Sees all my flowers in fragrant ruin lie?
The limpid streams, with sweet enamel'd shore
To torrents turn, and tempt my walk no more;
The flocks and herds to friendly coverts run,
And bleat their sorrows for an absent sun.
How much an emblem is the rising year,
And how each season does a likeness bear
To man's estate!—The bloom of Spring's attire
Resembles youth, replete with gay desire:—
Summer with all it's variegated hues,
Points out the path, the ripening mind pursues:
And Autumn's fruit perfected by degrees,
Like friendship, long experienced ever please.
This Mentor proves, whose converse every hour
Delights the minds of those who feel it's shower.

The Art of healing blesses all below,
Tho' age like winter crowns his head with snow.