Classic Poem

I

The Sun is set, and gone to sleep
With the fair Princess of the Deep,
Whose Bosom is his cool Retreat,
When fainting with his proper Heat:

II

His Steeds their flaming Nostrils cool
In Spume of the Cerulean Pool;
Whilst the Wheels dip their hissing Naves
Deep in Columbus 's Western Waves.

III

From whence great rowls of Smoke arise
To overshade the Beauteous Skies;
Who bid the World's bright Eye adieu
In gelid tears of falling Dew.

IV

And now from the Iberian Vales
Nights sable Steeds her Chariot hails,
Where double Cypress Curtains skreen
The gloomy Melancholick Queen.

V

These, as they higher mount the Sky,
Ravish all Colour from the Eye,
And leave it but an useless glass,
Which few, or no Reflections grace.

VI

The Crystal Arch o're Pindus 's Crown
Is on a sudden dusky grown,
And all's with Fun'ral Black o'respread,
As if the Day, which sleeps, were dead.

VII

No Ray of Light the Heart to cheer,
But little twinkling Stars appear;
Which like faint dying embers ly,
Fit nor to work, nor travel by.

VIII

Perhaps to him they Torches are,
Who guides Night's Sovereign's drowsy Car,
And him they may befriend so near,
But us they neither light, nor chear.

IX

Or else those little sparks of Light
Are Nayls that tyre the Wheels of Night,
Which to new stations still are brought,
As they rowl o'r the gloomy Vault.

X

Or Nayls that arm the Horses hoof,
Which trampling o're the marble Roof,
And striking Fire in the Air,
We Mortals call a shooting Star.