Classic Poem

The God who mounts the winged winds
Fast to his feet his golden pinions binds,
That high thro' fields of air his flight sustain
O'er the wide earth, and o'er the boundless main.
He grasps the wand that causes sleep to fly,
Or in soft slumber seals the wakeful eye:
Then shoots from heav'n to high Pieria's steep,
And stoops incumbent on the rolling deep.
So wat'ry fowl, that seek their fishy food,
With wings expanded o'er the foaming flood,
Now sailing smooth the level surface sweep,
Now dip their pinions in the briny deep.
Thus o'er the world of waters Hermes flew,
'Till now the distant Island rose in view:
Then swift ascending from the azure wave,
He took the path that winded to the cave.
Large was the Grot, in which the nymph he found,
(The fair-hair'd nymph with ev'ry beauty crown'd)
She sate and sung; the rocks resound her lays:
The cave was brighten'd with a rising blaze:
Cedar and frankincense; an od'rous pile,
Flam'd on the hearth, and wide perfum'd the Isle;
While she with work and song the time divides,
And thro' the loom the golden shuttle guides.
Without the grot, a various sylvan scene
Appear'd around, and groves of living green;
Poplars and alders ever quiv'ring play'd,
And nodding cypress form'd a fragrant shade;
On whose high branches, waving with the storm,
The birds of broadest wing their mansion form,
The chough, the sea-mew, the loquacious crow,
And scream aloft, and skim the deeps below.
Depending vines the shelving cavern screen,
With purple clusters blushing thro' the green.
Four limpid fountains from the clefts distill,
And ev'ry fountain pours a sev'ral rill,
In mazy windings wand'ring down the hill:
Where bloomy meads with vivid greens were crown'd,
And glowing violets threw odors round.
A scene, where if a God shou'd cast his sight,
A God might gaze, and wander with delight!
Joy touch'd the Messenger of heav'n: he stay'd
Entranc'd, and all the blissful haunt survey'd.