Classic Poem

You hearts that beat with feelings nice
Come vibrate now with mine,
And with a tear of sympathy
Bedew the captive's shrine,
Nor blush to shew the crystal drop,
Which pity bids to dawn,
More balmy than the morning dew,
That gilds the spangled lawn.

The flutt'ring starling touch'd the key
By which our heart-strings beat,
Whilst busy fancy brought to view,
The wretched captive's fate:
The portrait struck the trembling cords,
That thrill thro' nature's frame;
Whilst sighs responsive from his cell,
The captive's woes proclaim.

Entomb'd ere breathless stretch'd he lay,
Consign'd to dark despair,
Nor friends — nor kindred could approach,
To sooth his troubl'd care;
The pledges once of mutual love,
Alas were seen no more,
And fond remembrance only serv'd,
To swell affliction's store.

You busy crowds who time out-run
For pleasures yet unknown,
Do stop for once your mad career,
And mourn a fellow's moan;
The lenient touch compassion gives,
More favour finds above,
Than all the pageant pyramids,
That vanity can move.