Classic Poem

Teach me, kind Hymen! teach — for thou
Must be my only tutor now, —
Teach me some innocent employ
That shall the hateful thought destroy,
That I this whole long night must pass
In exile from my love's embrace.
Alas! thou hast no wings, oh, Time!
It was some thoughtless lover's rhyme,
Who, writing in his Chloe's view,
Paid her the compliment through you;
For had he, if he truly loved,
But once the pangs of absence proved,
He'd cropt thy wings, and in their stead,
Have painted thee with heels of lead.
But 'tis the temper of the mind,
Where we, thy regulator find:
Still o'er the gay and o'er the young,
With unfelt steps you flit along;
As Virgil's nymph o'er ripen'd corn,
With such etherial haste was borne,
That every stock with upright head
Denied the pressure of her tread;
But o'er the wretched oh, how slow
And heavy sweeps thy scythe of woe!
Oppressed beneath each stroke they bow,
Thy course engraven on their brow.
A day of absence shall consume
The glow of youth, and manhood's bloom;
And one short night of anxious fear
Shall leave the wrinkles of a year.

For me, who, when I'm happy, owe
No thanks to fortune that I'm so; —
Who long have learned to look at one
Dear object, and at one alone,
For all the joy and all the sorrow
That gilds the day or threats the morrow; —
I never felt thy footsteps light,
But when sweet love did aid thy flight;
And, banish'd from his blest dominion,
I cared not for thy borrow'd pinion.

True, she is mine, and since she's mine,
At trifles I should not repine;
But oh! the miser's real pleasure
Is not in knowing he has treasure:
He must behold his golden store,
And feel and count his riches o'er.
Thus I, of one dear gem possess'd
And in that treasure only blest,
There every day would seek delight,
And clasp the casket every night.