Classic Poem

Buried under a Weeping-Willow.

Beneath yon pendent willow-tree,
Known to the weeping muse, and me,
 Amid the shelt'ring grove—
Rest,—interr'd with decent care,
Of sweet domestic friends, a pair,—
 The objects of my love!

First, Draco , of the feline race,
A Cat endued with every grace,
 Resign'd his quiv'ring breath:
As trembling, at my feet he lay
The grateful accents forced their way,
 He purr'd , and sunk in death.

Unspoil'd his tabby vest was seen
Extended on the dewy green,
 At sober evening gray;
But ah! the piercing orbs of sight
Were set, in everlasting night,
 Where gleams no cheery ray.

Next, Chloe felt the fatal dart,
By slow degrees it reach'd the heart
 And drank the vital tide:
Awhile she droop'd, with secret pain;
Each art was tried,—but tried in vain,
 She, shivering, groan'd and died.

'Twas her's the gentle mind to move
With all the winning wiles of love,
 In various modes exprest;
She caught sweet rapture from the eye,
Or mark'd, with mimic grief, the sigh
 That swell'd the throbbing breast.

Companions of the lonely hour,
Possess'd of each engaging power
 That glads the tender mind,
Accept the tributary lay—
That pensive nature bids me pay,
 The lay—to grief consigned.

Here, shall the piteous tale be told,
While tears impregn the conscious mould
 That shields your loved remains;
Here, shall the plaintive dirge be sung
To rustic harp, by sorrow strung,
 Accordant to the strains.

When Cynthia pours her dubious ray
Light twinkling thro' the leafy spray
 The nimble elfins, sheen,
In vestments—such as fancy brings
From halcyon sleek, or goldfinch-wings,
 Imprint the humid green:

'Tis then, beneath the willow-tree,
The Muses oft their gambols see,
 And mark the mystic round;
'Tis then the desultory gale
Slow murmuring thro' the dewy vale
 Imbibes the mingled sound:

O! give it to my list'ning ear!
In tones unwist,—yet sweet and clear,
 By fancy's magic wrought,
With all her varied strokes—refined,
Soft pour it on my vacant mind,
 To urge the slumb'ring thought.

Still nimbly frisk, ye lucent throng,
Led on by elegiac song
 To skim the checker'd plain,
Till, thro' the scatter'd gloom of night,
Irradiate on my curious sight
 The visionary train.