Classic Poem

I.

Young Poet! I have watched with eager eyes
And anxious heart, thy progress towards fame;
And now that the all-glorious guerdon lies
Within thy grasp, and that thou hast a claim
(Fully established) to a Bardic name,
Few in thy triumphs deeplier sympathize
Than him whose muse this lowly meed supplies.

II.

For something in thy soul akin to mine —
For sorrows that have saddened all thy lays
For the fine feelings buoyant in each line
That flows from thy free pen — for thoughts of days
Gone by, when lips, whose every word was praise,
Pronounced our names together — I would twine
A wreath for thee that lastingly should shine.

III.

Vain is the wish! but I in fancy take
Thy hand, and, while I feel the cordial press,
Pray that thy future fortunes yet may make
Amends for all the past of bitterness
Which thou hast known; and that in the caress
Of thy beloved Emma, thou may'st wake
To joys that ne'er deceive — and ne'er forsake.

IV.

For me — I stand amid my loneliness
Of heart and mind — a sad and desolate one!
And death, and disappointment, and distress
Have haunted me, till even hope is gone;
Yet if amid life's desert, cold and lone,
I find one flower of joy spring up to bless,
And fill my heart with pleasure's sweet excess —

V.

'Tis Poesy — my first, last, changeless friend!
My bosom's constant and enduring light,
With the endearing thought of which I blend
All my fond visions of a pure delight,
Which will not leave me even in the night
Of my unsolaced sorrows. — Fare thee well!
May Fame for ever light thy " Estefelle. "