Classic Poem

Oh! speak not, A LTAMONT ! thy treach'rous pow'r
Must never more beguile my precious hours!
In vain the goblet flows—the smiling fair
With festive roses decks her silken hair;
While Mirth and Pleasure forms the sprightly jest;
And Wit wou'd prove 'tis wisdom to he blest.—
Oh, speak not—sooth not!—ev'ry art resign—
A voice I've heard, more potent far than thine,
A voice whose majesty might pierce the ear
Of madd'ning Passion, in its wild career:
A scene I've view'd, ev'n thou might'st view aghast,
And own thy fondest hopes must fade at last.—
Oh, could my feeble voice but once prevail,
I'd tell thy harrow'd soul a wond'rous tale!
To damp thy projects, daring as thou art!
And freeze the warmest wish that's near thy heart.
—Think not I grieve, with endless cares opprest,
For her I lov'd, when passion fir'd my breast;
Long did I seek her, vanish'd from my sight,
With sick'ning hope in vain I trac'd her flight.
Well dost thou know, impatient of controul,
How fits of gloom and frenzy seiz'd my soul!
O'er rugged rocks, where Hermits scarce wou'd tread,
The wildness of despair has form'd my bed.
Nor forest have I shunn'd, nor vale obscure—
For calm repose 'twas madness to endure!
In dreary shades, impervious ev'n to morn,
I wander'd, like some vagrant wretch forlorn,
Who lost to ev'ry joy, whilst woes increase,
Seeks but some lone retreat to die in peace.
—Amid the gleams which pensive moonlight gave,
I view'd, methought, the entrance of a cave!
A ruffian crew might here their orgies hold,
With murd'rous plan—but Mis'ry can be bold;
Its frantic enterprize affords relief,
And toils and dangers are the sport of grief.—
Dim and obscure, with scarce a glimm'ring ray,
Thro' subterranean vaults I sought my way.
A damp malignant air, with death-like chill,
(Whilst life's pale lamp but faintly glimmer'd still)
Struck to my heart—and oft a hollow sound,
Of dreadful import, seem'd to echo round!
And shadowy forms, which Fancy seiz'd aghast,
Thro' winding cells, in fun'ral order pass'd.
My soul recoil'd.—But stronger than Dismay,
A Pow'r Superior seem'd to guide my way.
Blest was that hour! for now a gentle light,
Like op'ning day-light, beam'd upon my sight,
And shone around me, with celestial force,
As throbbing Hope pursued its ardent course.
Far as the eye cou'd see, yet bright and clear,
(As rays of Glory bade its form appear)
I view'd a Cross: methought, sublime it stood,
Of noble structure, tho' 'twas bath'd in blood!—
Low in the dust, absorb'd in fervent pray'r,
(Adoring Him, who once was Victim there)
A prostrate figure—contrite, meek, depress'd,
While rugged sackcloth cloath'd her tender breast,
Breath'd the mild off'ring of an humble mind,
And sought the shelter pious faith shall find.—
As nearer still, with cautious steps I drew,
The long lost M AGDALENA struck my view!
No more the gay—to Love, to Pleasure dear—
The pale, the conscious penitent was here.
I mark'd the sacred tear in silence fall,
Which yields to Heaven the heart—the world and all!
I mark'd the timid eye with rapture shine,
Tho' dim with tears—the dews of Grace Divine
Nor dar'd I with unhallow'd steps molest
The treasur'd off'ring of a Saint at rest.
Thou know'st my heart—but oh! a secret awe,
Like Heaven's own mandate, bade my feet with draw:
My trembling heart pronounc'd its last farewell,
Nor dar'd one wish—one guilty thought rebel!
“Oh, M AGDALENA ! safe, rever'd, and free,
Remain, sweet love! and breathe one pray'r for me.
Who spreads her empire with destructive breath,
Whose smile is treach'ry—and whose frown's Death.

Such have I found her.—As with feeble might
Some wounded bird attempts its tim'rous flight,
Thus do I soar—my feeble wings expand,
And seek for safety in a fairer land!