Classic Poem

Shook from the Evening's fragrant wings
When dews impearl the grove,
And round the listening valley rings
The languid voice of Love;
Laid on a daisy-sprinkled green,
Beside a plaintive stream,
A meek-eyed Youth of serious mein
Indulged this solemn theme.

Ye cliffs, in savage grandeur pil'd
High o'er the darkening dale!
Ye groves! along whose windings wild
Soft-steals the murmuring gale;
Where oft lone Melancholy strays,
By wilder'd Fancy led,
What time the wan moon's yellow rays
Stream through the chequer'd shade.

To you, ye wastes, whose artless charms
Ne'er drew Ambition's eye,
Scap'd the tumultuous world's alarms
To your retreats I fly.
Deep in your most sequester'd bower
Let me at last recline,
Where Solitude, meek modest Power,
Leans on her ivy'd shrine.

How shall I woo thee, matchless Fair!
Thy envy'd smile how win!
Thy smile, that smooths the brow of Care,
And stills each storm within!
O wilt thou to thy favourite grove
Thine ardent votary bring,
And bless his hours, and bid them move
Serene on silent wing.

There while to thee glad Nature pours
Her gently-warbling song,
And Zephyr from the waste of flowers
Wafts sweet perfumes along;
Let no rude sound invade from far,
No vagrant foot be nigh,
No ray from Grandeur's gilded car
Flash on thy startled eye.

For me, no more the path invites
Ambition loves to tread;
No more I climb life's panting heights,
By guileful Hope misled:
Leaps my fond fluttering heart no more
To Joy's enlivening lays —
Soon are the glittering moments o'er,
Soon each gay form decays.