Classic Poem

Sweet are thy charming smiles, my lovely maid,
Sweet as the flowers in bloom of spring arrayed;
Those charming smiles thy beauteous face adorn,
As May's white blossoms gaily deck the thorn.
Then why, when mild good-nature basking lies
'Midst the soft radiance of thy melting eyes;
When my fond tongue would strive thy heart to move,
And tune its tones to every note of love;
Why do those smiles their native soil disown,
And (changed their movements) kill me in a frown?

Yet is it true, or is it dark despair
That fears you're cruel whilst it owns you fair?
O speak, dear Hoyland! speak my certain fate,
Thy love enrapturing, or thy constant hate.
If death's dire sentence hangs upon thy tongue,
E'en death were better than suspense so long.