Classic Poem

A FRAGMENT .

Of Doves sweet gentle birds, the heaven-born Muse
Prepares to sing, their manners and what law
The blameless race obey, their cares and loves.
O sacred Virgin, that, to me unseen
Yet present, whispers nightly in my ear
Love-dited song or tale of martial Knight,
As best becomes the time, and aidful grants
Celestial grace implor'd: O! bounteous, say
What favourite maid in her first bloom of youth
Wilt choose to honour? seem I not to see
The laurel shake, and hear the voice divine
Sound in mine ear: " With Erskine best agrees
The song of Doves; herself a dove, well-pleas'd
List gracious to the tale benign, and hear
How the chaste bird with words of fondling love,
Soft billing, wooes his maid; their sponsal loves,
Pure and unstain'd with jealous fear of change;
How studious they to build their little nests,
Nature's artificers! and tender, breed
Their unfledg'd children, till they wing their flight,
Each parent's care? Come, as the Muse ordains,
O! thou of every grace, whose looks of love,
Erskine, attractive, draw all wondering eyes
Constant to gaze; and whose subdning speech
Drops as the honeycomb, and grace is pour'd
Into thy lips: for ever thee attends
Sweetness thy handmaid, and, with Beauty, clothes
As with the morning's robe invested round:
O come, again invok'd, and smiling lend
Thy pleas'd attention, whilst in figur'd silk
Thy knowing needle plants the' embroider'd flower
As in its native bed: so may'st thou find
Delight perpetual and the' inclining ear
Of Heav'n propitious to thy maiden vow,
When thou shalt seek from Love a youth adorn'd
With all perfection, worthy of thy choice,
To bless thy night of joy and social care.
O happy he, for whom the vow is made!

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