Classic Poem

O crusca, whosoe'er thou art,
Who sings in strains so plaintive sweet;
That e'en the sad despondent heart,
Feels provocation 'gain to beat!

Hear, gentle Bard, another's strains,
Who no fantastic passion feigns;
But who all melancholy sighs
With grief too great to vent in cries.
And Sorrow scorning aid from tears,
O Della! if thou e'er did'st love,
As numbers such as thine proclaim;
Is not the passion far above,
Say, ev'ry other tender slame;
And such as Crusca's breast reveres!

But why this question put to me?
Perhaps you'll say and spurn my zeal;
No! Della, no! it ne'er can be!
Thy heart does too susceptive feel.

Then, Minstrel, hear my cause of grief,
And heard, give pity to my woe;
And, oh! I'll rest a firm relief,
A sympathizing tear will slow!

" Where Avon rolls its silver tide,
" In gentle murm'ring along;
" Liv'd Anna, first in Nature's pride,
" Liv'd Anna, first in village song.

" An orphan stranger known to few,
" For she, alas! no wealth could boast;
" Five acres only round her grew,
" Yet Anna reign'd the village toast.

" An ancient aunt preserv'd from ill,
" This peerless maid of matchless charms,
" Whose precepts did her mind instill,
" To guard 'gainst Vice's rude alarms.

" But when the aged matron dy'd,
" 'Twas then the damsel's fears began;
" 'Twas then on Heav'n the virgin cry'd,
" To guard her 'gainst the snares of man.

" And much had Anna cause to fear,
" The guilty passion many sung;
" Who ne'er for Virtue shed a tear,
" But ever on its ruin hung.

" Long had I mark'd this lily fair,
" To be a partner to my heart;
" And long her image treasur'd there,
" Where love lay undisguis'd from art.

" Enough had I of wealthy pow'r,
" To calm the cares of worldly strife;
" And only wish'd the happy hour,
" To make this humble maid my wife.

" In short, the Virgin crown'd my love,
" Whom Hymen to the altar led;
" Tho' many 'gainst the union strove,
" My Anna bless'd the marriage bed.

" O marriage! sweet connubial state,
" How long must I thy comforts mourn?
" How long complain in vain to Fate,
" That Anna's from my bosom torn?

" Nine months like minutes glided by,
" In ever-teeming new delight;
" Nine months escap'd without a sigh,
" While Anna bless'd Alphonso's sight.

" Now, Della Crusca, comes a tale,
" That harrows yet my bleeding soul;
" But what can now my tears avail,
" Which Reason checks but can't controul?

" A pledge of love my Anna bore,
" And gave the young Alphonso breath;
" But, oh! that pledge still grieves me sore,
" It gave my charming girl to Death!

" The lovely infant still does live,
" Sweet offspring of a fatal birth;
" But can I Crusca, death forgive,
" Whose robb'd me of such precious worth? "

And yet, my smiling cherub! yes,
For her who gave thee life, I will;
And as thy ruby lips I kiss,
Think still I press thy mother's still:

Then farewell, Crusca, if thy heart
Like mine partakes of keenest woe!
May future peace eraze its smart;
Peace lost Alphonso ne'er can know.

And heav'n-crown'd Tickle, grief destroy,
Whose loss thy Muse so sweet bewail'd;
And turn each bitter pang to joy,
Tho' ev'ry earthly med'cine fail'd.