Classic Poem

Yet onward leads the length'ning way,
Perplexed and forlorn;
And chilly blow the warring winds,
Around me restless borne.

No vernal verdure, fresh and fair;
Waves on the wat'ry ray,
That frequent streaks yon gath'ring gloom,
And frequent fades away.

I see, wide-scatter'd here and there,
Along the dark-brown waste,
The faded furze, the wither'd fern,
The rock moss-clad and vast.

I hear the wild birds wailing notes,
Remurm'ring o'er the heath;
Now to and fro they flocking flit,
Or cow'r the bush beneath.

In awful blackness rising round,
Appears the brewing blast;
It howls from yonder hill's brown brow,
And sweeps adown the waste.

Near, and more near, my pensive eye
Remarks it's rapid way;
Now less'ning sinks yon grey-grown rock,
Now viewless swims away.

Resistless night is falling fast,
To fill the frowning scene,
And leaves no shelt'ring shade, to ward
The swift-descending rain.

I'll stretch me down upon the heath,
And wipe this rising tear,
While raging round me loudly roars
The elemental war.

Ah me! the big-round briny drop
Still gathers in my eye,
And bursting from my fearful breast,
I feel the frequent sigh.

The twilight hour, with horror fraught,
Is fleeting fast away;
And fruitless flows the falling tear,
That weeps my long delay.

In vain across th' accustom'd green
May C LARA look for me!
Nor her, nor the dear face of man,
My eyes will ever see!

Surpris'd along the mid-way waste,
Where driving tempests blow,
The stern resistless stroke of fate
Will lay my body low.

I feel, I feel, the freezing storm
Obstruct my lab'ring breath;
My shiv'ring limbs will soon be pale
And lifeless on the heath.

Unseen, unwept, no winding shroud
Will my cold corse receive;
No sad procession bear me on,
To fill my father's grave.

No rising stone reveal my name,
Or make my merit known;
No sculptur'd elegiac lay
Lament my early doom.

Extended o'er the howling heath,
To bleaching blasts a prey,
The wearing waste of with'ring winds
Will moulder me away.

If e'er to thee, in happier hour,
My pray'r delightful rose,
Pity my maid, mysterious heav'n!
And swift my sorrows close.