Classic Poem

In Praise of the Invention of Writing Letters

Blest be the man! his memory at least,
Who found the art thus to unfold his breast,
And taught succeeding times an easy way
Their secret thoughts by letters to convey;
To baffle absence and secure delight
Which, till that time, was limited to sight.
The parting farewell spoke, the last adieu,
The less'ning distance past, then loss of view:
The friend was gone which some kind moments gave,
And absence separated like the grave.
The wings of love were tender too, till then
No quill thence pulled was shaped into a pen,
To send in paper sheets, from town to town,
Words smooth as they, and softer than his down.
O'er such he reigned, whom neighbourhood had joined,
And hopt from bough to bough supported by the wind.
When for a wife the youthful patriarch sent,
The camels, jewels, and the steward went,
A wealthy equipage, tho' grave and slow:
But not a line that might the lover show.
The rings and bracelets wooed her hands and arms;
But had she known of melting words, the charms
That under secret seals in ambush lie
To catch the soul when drawn into the eye,
The fair Assyrian had not took this guide,
Nor her soft heart in chains of pearl been tied.
Had these conveyances been then in date,
Joseph had known his wretched father's state,
Before a famine, which his life pursues,
Had sent his other sons to tell the news.
Oh! might I live to see an art arise,
As this to thoughts indulgent to the eyes,
That the dark powers of distance could subdue
And make me see as well as talk to you:
That tedious miles, nor tracts of air might prove
Bars to my sight, and shadows to my love!
Yet were it granted, such unbounded things
Are wandering wishes, born on fancy's wings,
They'd stretch themselves beyond this happy case,
And ask an art to help us to embrace.