Classic Poem

Enchanting is the mighty power of Love;
Life stript of amorous joys would irksome prove:
E'en Heaven's great Thunderer wore the easy chain,
And over all the world Love keeps his reign.
No human heart can bear the piercing blade,
Or I than others am more tender made.
Right through my heart a burning arrow drove,
Hoyland's bright eyes were made the bows of Love.
Oh! torture inexpressibly severe!
You are the pleasing author of my care.
Look down, fair angel, on a swain distrest,
A gracious smile from you would make me blest.
Nothing but that blest favour stills my grief—
Death, that denied, will quickly give relief.