Classic Poem

BY THOMAS H. SHREVE .

Hail, gifted one of song!
Whose harp, breathed on by the inspiring Nine,
Pours its rich stream of melody divine,
Our western land along!

Genius, proud girl, is thine!
Thou wav'st thy sceptre o'er far fairy land,
And to thy brow full many a flowery band
Come up as to a shrine!

Girl of the eagle eye!
No earth-born mists thy searching vision shroud,
But far beyond the tempest and the cloud
Thy raptured glances fly.

The clime of song to thee,
Wears not the sable hue of starless night,
But in its beauty bursts upon thy sight,
From blinding shadows free.

Before thy dreaming mind
Ideal forms in all their glory play,
More beautiful than clouds that melt away
Upon the summer's wind.

Upon thy eager ear
Falls melody as soft as Siren's tones,
When through the shadowy woods the wild wind moans
O'er the departing year.

Then oft at dewy eve
Thy spirit soareth up on seraph wing,
And drinking bliss at thought's perennial spring,
Forgets that earth can grieve.

Thy brow is eloquent
Of those high thoughts that, star-like, ever gleam
Above the voyagers on life's dark stream,
Like blessings heaven-sent.

Thy spirit finds in flowers,
In songs of birds, in stars that gem the night,
And autumn winds that earth's green glories blights,
Friends for its lonely hours.

Oh, may thy Life's tide flow
As smoothly on as some glad song of thine,
Begemm'd by flowers, and mirroring things divine,
Without a shade of woe.