Classic Poem

The sun again sets, and the moon in his room,
Illumines once more the bright waves of the Frome;
But who sails upon it? for our slender oar
Shall trouble its transparent waters no more.
O think on the Frome, love! and give me a sigh
For the hours that are past, for the pleasures gone by.

The fields and the paths where we roved are the same,
And silent and dark are the bowers of Came;
But who now frequents them? for we, my sweet Maid,
No more tread those paths, or repose in that shade.
O think on the Frome, love! and give me a sigh
For the hours that are past, for the pleasures gone by.

There's the place where you dwelt, and the grove all around,
Where I sought you at eve, at the Curfew's first sound;
But what youth is there now, love? for I am forlorn,
Nor can meet thee at night, nor behold thee at morn.
O think on the Frome, then, and give me a sigh
For the hours that are past, for the pleasures gone by.

But who knoweth? although I have left that sweet soil,
What glory and joy may reward my long toil;
I still may be blest, and have thee at my side,
My partner of life and my own beloved bride.
Then think on those moments, and give me a smile
For the glory and joy that may bless me erewhile.