Classic Poem

AS with delight we view the op'ning rose
Expand, and all her fragrant sweets disclose,
So did M ATERNA view her lovely maid,
In all her charms of innocence array'd.
Oft had her little all, her only child,
The tedious hour with pleasing chat beguil'd;
But Heav'n, all-good, and infinitely wise,
Remov'd this darling idol to the skies.
'Ere her young heart had been obdur'd by sin,
Or guilt, tormenting fiend, could brood therein;
'Ere she arriv'd at years that might destroy,
By one false step, a tender mother's joy.

Behold she soars to yon' celestial fields,
Where ev'ry plant aetherial odour yields;
With pitying eye, methinks she looks below,
Commisserates a tender mother's woe,
Bids her dejected heart from earth retire,
And all her future thoughts to Heav'n aspire.

Prepare, she cries, — prepare to meet the blest,
And join your Sally in eternal rest.

S ILENT and cool the dews of ev'ning fall,
Hush'd is the vernal music of the groves,
From yon thick boughs the birds of darkness call,
And mark the walk that contemplation loves.

In shapeless grandeur thro' the dubious shade,
That G OTHIC structure rises unconfin'd;
Imagination feels Asacred dread,
And awes to sober thought th' astonish'd mind.

Successive seasons as they roll, survey
Still unimpair'd these solid columns stand,
While cold and senseless moulder, in decay,
The limbs which rais'd them, and the head which plann'd.

Not for themselves the toiling artists build,
Not for himself contrives the studious sage:
To distant views by mystic force compell'd,
All give the PRESENT to the FUTURE age.

Beneath the shelter of this reverend pile
The various schemes of busy care repose:
O'er the dark tombs, along each peopled isle,
The moon's pale beam a faint reflexion throws.

Here D EATH his melancholy pomp displays,
And all his terrors strike on fancy's eye:
To fancy's ear each hollow gale conveys,
In chilling sounds, the last expiring sigh.

Mute is each syren passion's faithless song,
Check'd and suspended by the solemn scene:
Mute the wild clamours of the giddy throng,
And only heard the " still small voice " within.

A MBITION sick'ning views the laurel'd bust,
The weak reward for years of rival strife:
While P LEASURE'S garland withering in the dust,
Confutes the gayer hope of frolic life.

While folly dictates, and while reason scorns
The vain regrets of disappointed art,
Ev'n virtue sighs, while poor A FFECTION mourns
The blasted comforts of the desert heart.

Yet check that impious thought, my gentle friend,
Which bounds our prospects by our fleeting breath,
Which hopeless sees unfinish'd life descend,
And ever bars the prison gates of death.

Ah! what is friendship, if at once disjoin'd
The sympathetic tie unites no more?
Ah! what is virtue, if below confin'd?
The fruitless struggle of a toilsome hour!

To perfect good, thro' each progressive stage,
The pow'rs of intellectual Being tend,
Nor raging elements, nor wasting age
Shall e'er defeat their heav'n-appointed end.

To perfect joy, from pain and chance secure,
The sighing heart springs upward from the dust,
Where safe from suff'ring, and from frailty pure,
Unite the social spirits of the just.

O'er the sad relics of our mortal clay
No more let fancy sink, in hopeless grief;
But rais'd by faith to happier views, survey
The blooming forms of renovated life.

To nature rescu'd from corruption's pow'r,
The glad archangel lifts his awful voice:
He swears that time and change shall be no more;
Hear, earth and heav'n! and, earth and heav'n, rejoice!