Classic Poem

The Syrens, once deluded, vainly charm'd;
Ty'd to the mast Ulysses sail'd unharm'd:
Had Mira's voice entic'd his list'ning ear,
The Greek had stopp'd, and would have dy'd to hear.
When Mira sings we seek th' enchanting sound,
And bless the notes that do so sweetly wound.
What music needs must dwell upon that tongue
Whose speech is tuneful as another's song!
Such harmony, such wit, a face so fair,
So many pointed arrows, who can bear!
Who from her wit or from her beauty flies,
If with her voice she overtakes him dies.
Like soldiers so in battle we succeed,
One peril 'scaping, by another bleed:
In vain the dart or glitt'ring sword we shun,
Condemn'd to perish by the slaught'ring gun.