Classic Poem

Away, away! The sea-gull's screech,
Disconsolate, accosts my ear;
And, in their monotone, I hear
The breakers pounding on the beach.

Rise, O my soul, from idle days;
From nights of pleasure sweet now rise;
Calliope, from out the skies,
Upon me her command thus lays;

" Life, son, is short; and though thy years
Not yet have numbered three times ten,
Yet soon the hour approaches when
Death's steps shall echo in thine ears.

" Then rise from pleasure-seeking days,
From nights of idlesse sweet, O rise,
Weave well thy pilgrim melodies,
If thou would'st win a master's bays! "