Classic Poem

From his moor of minerals turning, lingering slow,
A pale bard descended to the sea below,
Where he met Cordelia standing on the shore;
And she bade him welcome to her dwelling's door.

She had reached her autumn, when life's leaves decay;
But content and comfort cheer'd her on her way,
And her heart was tender as the pulse of Spring,
When the larks, for gladness, o'er the daisies sing.

And they talk'd of painters, and of bards the same,
Who, through tribulation, earn'd the meed of fame;
But their chiefest subject was the Saviour's love,
And the land of glory in the blue above.

Came a blast so bitter from the shore of night,
And it smote Cordelia with a deadly blight:
“I am waiting for Thee, dearest Lord!” said she;
Then the angels row'd her o'er the silver sea.

Now he feels a presence with him in his woe,
Watching his song-struggle o'er the world below,
But he hopes to meet her in the land of green,
Where the lakes are crystal, and no blight is seen.