Classic Poem

Again the sun-shine gilds my day,
Again my path is strew'd with flowers;
Bright Hope for me points out the way,
And Joy prepares his roseate bowers.

What tho' no parents my cold urn
With tears of pity shall bedew,
Since holy hands my bones shall burn,
And on my grave fresh flow'rets strew!

What though no marble shall relate
The griefs that brought me to the tomb;
For me shall guardian angels wait,
And Paradise itself shall bloom!

How vain the joys which mortals prize,
No sooner known than past away!
Like colour'd clouds which paint the skies,
And glow awhile with transient day!

Titles and honours once were mine,
And blooming health and youthful grace:
Now on my cheek the roses pine,
Now grief has blanch'd my faded face.

Once did I shine among the great,
And once was number'd with the gay;
Now grandeur leaves me to my fate,
Nor knows, nor pities, my decay.

No anxious eye on mine attends
Each rising wish to watch with care;
And whither now are fled those friends,
Who sought me young, who lov'd me fair!

Thus blooms the lily priz'd by all,
While summer suns as yet prevail;
And there neglected does it fall
Before the rude and chilling gale.

No more it claims the virgin's care,
No more her fond protection proves,
No more the shepherd may compare,
This fallen flow'r with her he loves.

Then ruthless on its faded form,
The rains descend, the tempests blow:
None seek to save it from the storm;
None ask, what laid this flow'ret low?

That I so flourish'd, and so fell,
These tears, these sighs, these lines attest:
Thus much may pale repentance tell—
Hide, blushing virtue, hide the rest.