Classic Poem

Hark , 'tis a mother singing to her child
Those madrigals that used her ears to greet,
When she, an infant like that spring-flower sweet,
Lent her charm'd ears to nurse, or mother mild,
That sang those nursery stories strange and wild —
Of Knights, of Robbers, and of fairy Queens
Dwelling in Castles 'mid enchanted scenes —
The songs which plain antiquity beguil'd.
Or is her theme of him, her lord; whose bark
Is ploughing, 'neath his guidance, Indian seas;
Or far detain'd by polar skies, that freeze
His glad return? She, tuneful as the lark
That warbling soars, tho' Phaebus cease to smile,
Lifts her soft voice, and sings, tho' sad the while.