Classic Poem

At last, my old, inveterate foe,
No opposition shalt thou know.
Since I, by struggling, can obtain
Nothing, but increase of pain
I will at last no more do so,
Though I confess I have applied
Sweet mirth, and music, and have tried
A thousand other arts beside,
To drive thee from my darkened breast,
Thou, who hast banished all my rest.
But though sometimes a short reprieve they gave,
Unable they, and far too weak, to save;
All arts to quell, did but augment thy force,
As rivers checked, break with a wilder course.
Friendship I to my heart have laid,
Friendship, the applauded sovereign aid,
And thought that charm so strong would prove,
As to compel thee to remove;
And to myself I boasting said,
Now I a conqueror sure shall be,
The end of all my conflicts see,
And noble triumph wait on me;
My dusky, sullen foe will sure
Ne'er this united charge endure.
But, leaning on this reed, ev'n whilst I spoke,
It pierced my hand, and into pieces broke.
Still some new object, or new interest came
And loosed the bonds, and quite dissolved the claim.

These failing, I invoked a Muse,
And poetry would often use
To guard me from thy tyrant power;
And to oppose thee every hour
New troops of fancies did I choose.
Alas! in vain, for all agree
To yield me captive up to thee,
And heaven alone can set me free.
Thou through my life wilt with me go,
And make the passage sad, and slow.
All that could e'er thy ill-got rule invade,
Their useless arms before thy feet have laid;
The fort is thine, now ruined all within,
Whilst by decays without, thy conquest too is seen.