Classic Poem

FOR AN ANTIQUE CASKET, CONTAINING A RING. A.D . 1500

From India came this little bande
Of emeralde and rubie stone,
A spelle that sparklinge on thine hande,
Should tell thee gentle tales of one,
Whose daye and nighte were memorie,
H ELENE ! of loveliness and thee.

A spelle was gravenne in its golde,
A spirit fixede, without his winges;
To H ELENE once it would have tolde
More than was ever tolde by ringes:

But now, mie dreame 's alle past and gone,
Mie teares are on the burial stone!
Thou canst not see the teares that starte
From eyes by thoughtes like those beguilde,

Thou canst not knowe the beatinge hearte,
Ever a victime and a childe!
To me 'tis left alone to grieve;
The tombe, the tombe doth not deceive.

I'll heare thy voice of melodie
In whispers of the summerre air,
I 'll see the brightnesse of thine eye
In the blue eveninge's shininge starre,
In moonlighte beames thy puritie;
And look on heavenne, to look on thee!