Classic Poem

First Shepherd.

Return, ye shepherds, to the Cypress-grove ,
Descending dews impregn the hallow'd sod;
The gentle Spirit , sooth'd with heavenly love,
Reposes, in the bosom of its God.

Here will we meditate, — the lunar-beam
Now shines effulgent thro' the starry-sky,
See, how it twinkles on the rimpled stream,
And gives the Terrace , brightening, to the eye:

How was he wont beside the Urn to stand,
To view his smiling paradise, around,
The beech-tree rising from the fallow-land,
The oak, wide-spreading o'er the swelling mound.

Yon rustic Fane , for meditation meet,
He, judging, placed in low sequester'd dell;
There musing thought, and melancholy sweet,
And science bland, and poesy love to dwell.

Erst have we seen him, at the spring of day,
Slow climbing up the branching elms between,
Or, cheerly tripping by the hedge-row gay,
Or, musing on the margin of the green.

And, oft he'd seek, at gloomy twilight hour,
When scarce a beam illumed the fading west,
The solemn umbrage of the gothic tower:
While holy raptures swell'd his throbbing breast!

'Twas there his bosom heaved the ardent sigh,
From hallow'd lips the pious accents stole,
To heav'n he raised the supplicating eye
Enrapt in fervent ecstasy of soul!