Classic Poem

ELEGY .

Dreary and dark, in autumn's wane,
The mournful evening falls,
And hollow winds and chilling rain
Beat fast upon the walls.

From the drench'd caves' incumbent tops,
With wet and weltering sound,
At intervals, the heavy drops
Plash on the wat'ry ground.

Time was, ah, well-remember'd time!
When wintry blasts severe,
More welcome than the vernal prime,
Were music to my ear.

When many an evening's stormy hour,
Emillia, pass'd with thee,
I thank'd the rain, and wind's loud roar,
That banish'd all but me.

Now my sick soul these wintry glooms
Oppress with cruel sway,
Since my life's light no more illumes
Dark eve, or sullen day.

With folded arms, by waning fires,
I hear the howling wind,
And sigh that faithful fond desires
Congenial winter find.

Yes, long I sit by waning fires,
And heavy eave-drops count;
My heart no sprightlier sound requires,
Or listless spirits want.

For sprightly sounds discordant rise,
Where cherish'd woes are dear,
They but insult the lover's sighs,
Insult his starting tear.

Yet, yet my soul might better bear
These absent weeks forlorn,
Did not presaging clouds of fear
Lour on thy wish'd return.

Authority's yet dreaded power,
Goaded by busy foes,
May wait on that eventful hour,
And bring a train of woes.

Beneath this dread, by waning fires,
I muse the night away;
This dread, that 'gainst my peace conspires,
Resist it as I may.

O! let thy pen my throbbing heart
With softest balm assuage,
And better hopes, with love impart,
To chase the sad presage!

So shall I bless the minutes' course,
How slow soe'er they move,
Since bring they must the day, perforce,
That gives me back my love.

ELEGY .

Dreary and dark, in autumn's wane,
The mournful evening falls,
And hollow winds and chilling rain
Beat fast upon the walls.

From the drench'd caves' incumbent tops,
With wet and weltering sound,
At intervals, the heavy drops
Plash on the wat'ry ground.

Time was, ah, well-remember'd time!
When wintry blasts severe,
More welcome than the vernal prime,
Were music to my ear.

When many an evening's stormy hour,
Emillia, pass'd with thee,
I thank'd the rain, and wind's loud roar,
That banish'd all but me.

Now my sick soul these wintry glooms
Oppress with cruel sway,
Since my life's light no more illumes
Dark eve, or sullen day.

With folded arms, by waning fires,
I hear the howling wind,
And sigh that faithful fond desires
Congenial winter find.

Yes, long I sit by waning fires,
And heavy eave-drops count;
My heart no sprightlier sound requires,
Or listless spirits want.

For sprightly sounds discordant rise,
Where cherish'd woes are dear,
They but insult the lover's sighs,
Insult his starting tear.

Yet, yet my soul might better bear
These absent weeks forlorn,
Did not presaging clouds of fear
Lour on thy wish'd return.

Authority's yet dreaded power,
Goaded by busy foes,
May wait on that eventful hour,
And bring a train of woes.

Beneath this dread, by waning fires,
I muse the night away;
This dread, that 'gainst my peace conspires,
Resist it as I may.

O! let thy pen my throbbing heart
With softest balm assuage,
And better hopes, with love impart,
To chase the sad presage!

So shall I bless the minutes' course,
How slow soe'er they move,
Since bring they must the day, perforce,
That gives me back my love.