Classic Poem

The destined lover, whom his stars
More golden than the world of lights,
O'er passes bleak, o'er perilous bars
Of rivers, lead, thro' storms and nights,

Or if he leave the West behind,°
Or father'd by the sunder'd South,
Shall, when his star is zenith'd, find
Acceptance round his mistress' mouth:

Altho' unchallenged, where she sits,
Three rivals throng her garden chair,
And tho' the silver seed that flits
Above them, down the draught of air,

And keeps the breeze and clears the seas
And tangles on a down of France,
Yet leaves him in ungirdled ease
8000 furlongs in advance.

But in the other's horoscope
Bad Saturn with a swart aspect
Fronts Venus.—His ill-launchèd hope
In unimperill'd haven is wreck'd.

He meets her, stintless of her smile;
Her choice in roses knows by heart;
Has danced with her: and all the while
They are Antipodes apart.

His sick stars falter. More he may
Not win, if this be not enough.
He meets upon Midsummer day
The stabbing coldness of rebuff.