Classic Poem

To whom now, Pyrrha, art thou kind?
To what Heart-ravisht lover
Dost thou thy golden locks unbind,
Thy hidden sweets discover,
And with large bounty open set
All the bright stores of thy rich cabinet?

Ah, simple youth, how oft will he
Of thy changed faith complain!
And his own fortunes find to be
So airy and so vain:
Of so camelion-like an hue,
That still their colour changes with it too!

How oft, alas, will he admire
The blackness of the skies!
Trembling to hear the winds sound higher,
And see the billows rise:
Poor unexperienced he,
Who ne'er, alas, before had been at sea!

He joys in thy calm sunshine now,
And no breath stirring hears;

In the clear heaven of thy brow
No smallest cloud appears.
He sees thee gentle, fair, and gay,
And trusts the faithless April of thy May.

Unhappy! Thrice unhappy he,
T' whom thou untried dost shine!
But there 's no danger now for me,
Since o'er Loretto's shrine,
In witness of the shipwreck past,
My consecrated vessel hangs at last.