Classic Poem

IN THE MANNER OF HAMMOND; SUPPOSED TO HAVE BEEN WRITTEN IN THE AUTHOR'S GARDEN, DURING A STORM . 1756.

Blow on, ye winds! exert your utmost rage,
Sweep o'er the dome, or through the forest howl!
Could north with south, or east with west engage,
What were their war to that within my soul?

There adverse passions fierce contention hold,
There Love and Pride maintain alternate sway,
There fell Despair's dark clouds on clouds are roll'd,
And veil Hope's transient, faint, delusive ray!

Too charming Sylvia! dear capricious Fair!
What strange perplexing change of mind is thine!
No more thy smiles I'll trust, thy frowns I'll bear;
I'll shun the beauty that must ne'er be mine!

Was it for thee I form'd this fair retreat,
Bade through the grove the smooth walk wind away,
Adorn'd that walk with many a rustic seat,
And by those seats bade tinkling runnels stray;

Along my sunny wall the fruit-tree spread,
Upon my eves expos'd the curling vine,
Around my door the spicy woodbine led,
Beneath my window saw the jasmine twine?

Blow on, ye winds! exert your utmost power,
Rage through my groves, and bear down every tree;
Blast the fair fruit, and crush the blooming flower —
For Sylvia's lost, and these are naught to me!