Classic Poem

Where was my gentle gaurdian where

When spirits malignant of the air
Press'd thro the silence of the night
My soul ungaurded to affright
And dar'd prophane with dreams my mind
When sleep my reason had confin'd
Tired with mortal vanities
Say didst thou seek thy native Skies
To breathe the pure celestial air
And join thy kindred spirits there
For there in every blissful grove
They tune their harps to notes of love
Their golden harps with rapture swell
And all the saviours triumphs tell;
Then bending low before his seat
They cast their crowns beneath his feet
And sounding high in heavenly lays
The sacred Symphony of praise.
Why didst thou not thy charge invite
With thee to visit fields of light?
To soar thro aether up the road,
And waft me to thy bright abode.
See dull Mortality appear,
To keep my Soul a prisoner here,
Confin'd to earth expos'd to foes,
Who seek to poison my repose,
With vain unprofitable dreams,
Of Idle Joys and airy schemes.