Classic Poem

The sun was hast'ning to the main;
His beamy radiance play'd
Upon the mountain's edge; the plain
Confess'd a deeper shade.

The chaunt of birds, from vocal groves,
Harmonious swell'd the breeze;
The shepherds sung their rural loves,
And all around was peace.

When on a mound, where purple flow'rs
With blushing lustre shone;
Dissolv'd in woe, thus Sylvia pours
In air her plaintive moan.

“Once, downy-wing'd, the moments stole
“Away, with heedless flight;
“And suns would warm the western goal,
“Before I dream'd of night.

“To range the mountain's bloomy side,
“And mark where daisies grew,
“Or cull with art the meadow's pride,
“Was all the care I knew.

“Or if another shar'd my breast,
“It was by D AMON led,
“To search at eve the linnet's nest,
“And see the bow'rs he made.

“But, sad reverse! I now forlorn
“Weep out the live-long day;
“See joyless gleam the ruddy morn,
“Joyless the ev'ning ray.

“No op'ning blossoms braid my hair,
“Or on my bosom shine;
“No D AMON deigns the name of fair,
“Pressing his lips to mine.

“For, ah! by cruel guiles misled,
“In guardless hour I fell;
“The joys of love and youth are fled,
“With innocence to dwell.

“No beam of hope illumes my soul,
“No ray of future bliss;
“But ev'ry sun must cheerless roll,
“In sorrow black as this.

“Damon! a maid whose beauties bloom
“Unsullied by a crime,
“Shall wipe your tears for Sylvia 's doom;
“And tears her fate may claim!

“Yet, lovely youth! when in the grave,
“Where soon I'll seek for rest,
“O, bid the mournful cypress wave,
“To shade my clay-cold breast!

“And, mindful of our young amours,
“Come each revolving year,
“And strow my sylvan tomb with flow'rs,
“Nor check the pitying tear.”