Classic Poem

The skies with horrid tempests frown,
And even in snow and rain come down,
The woods and rough profound
Roar with the north wind, fresh from Thrace,
My friends let us the hint embrace,
And while our knees are sound
Let us in seemly sort preclude
The thought of sour solicitude, —
Bring wine of Manlian date; —
All other matters we forbear,
For heav'n, perhaps, these hours of care,
With joy shall reinstate.
Now is the pleasure and the time,
With odours of the Persian clime,
Our bodies to perfume;
And with the Cyllenean lyre,
To ease our breasts of horrors dire,
Lest they our frames consume.
Thus the great Centaur to his ward,
Sung lectures, " O unconquer'd lord,
Whose birth from Thetis rose;
The land of Phrygia thee expects,
Where cool Scamander's stream directs
Its course, and Simois flows.
From whence (the fates have spun it so)
You shall not be allow'd to go
Home with your blue-ey'd queen;
There thou the ills of every day,
With musick and with wine, allay
Th'alloquial charms of spleen."