Classic Poem

So bends beneath the storm yon balmy flow'r,
—Whose spicy blossoms once perfum'd the gale;
—So press'd with tears reclines yon lily pale,
Obedient to the rude and beating show'r.

Still is the Lark, that hov'ring o'er yon spray,
—With jocund carol usher'd in the morn;
And mute the Nightingale, whose tender lay
—Melted the feeling mind with sounds forlorn:

More sweet, Maria, was thy plaintive strain!
—That strain is o'er; but mem'ry ne'er shall fade,
When erst it cheer'd grey twilight's dreary shade,
—And charm'd the sorrow-stricken soul from pain;
Still, still, melodious maid, thy dulcet song
Shall breathe, immortal, on an Angel's Tongue!

So bends beneath the storm yon balmy flow'r,
—Whose spicy blossoms once perfum'd the gale;
—So press'd with tears reclines yon lily pale,
Obedient to the rude and beating show'r.

Still is the Lark, that hov'ring o'er yon spray,
—With jocund carol usher'd in the morn;
And mute the Nightingale, whose tender lay
—Melted the feeling mind with sounds forlorn:

More sweet, Maria, was thy plaintive strain!
—That strain is o'er; but mem'ry ne'er shall fade,
When erst it cheer'd grey twilight's dreary shade,
—And charm'd the sorrow-stricken soul from pain;
Still, still, melodious maid, thy dulcet song
Shall breathe, immortal, on an Angel's Tongue!