Classic Poem

Here ends the vision — it was Fancy's throne,
And melts into the air it fill'd — no more
The envy'd or the loved, as heretofore.
An outcast in my age, and left alone,
Without one refuge but in Mercy's throne
Of adamant — her sceptre I adore,
Her beam in shadows of the night implore,
And bless the wreath more brilliant than my own.
" Ungrateful, " said a whispering voice, " the mood
" That so complains! — Thy handmaid is the Muse,
" The hour is thine in social blessings pass'd,
" The luxury unbought of doing good,
" Its own reward — whose fountain shall infuse
" Joys that have no caprice, and friends that last. "