Classic Poem

I cull'd a heap of bright and blooming flowers,
From streamlet's side and fairy-wreathed bowers;
And for myself a brilliant crown I wove,
Fit crown to deck a youthful Bard of Love.
Then flew delighted to those radiant halls,
Where festive boards are spread for he who calls,
Though stranger quite, or from some foreign shore,
Whence houseless wand'rer ne'er was seen before.

I tun'd my harp, and sung my sweetest song;
Th' applause burst forth, and echo'd loud and long,
And mirth flew round; and swift the goblets pass'd,
And every hour seem'd sweeter than the last:
But, hapless wretch, ere twilight's silvery gleams
Had mellow'd Nature's tints and brightest beams,
My garlands wither'd, and my flowery song
Remain'd, alas! not in the memory long.

And then I thought, how mournful is the fate
Of him, who wastes, in evanescent bowers,
The moments Time allows him to be great,
And deck his name with bright and fadeless flowers:
And I resolv'd when day-beams shone again,
And brighten'd up this world of earth and sea,
My idle garlands all to rend in twain,
And shew mankind the laurel bloom'd for me.