Classic Poem

Thou joyous fiend, life's constant foe,
Sad source of care, and spring of wo,
Soft Pleasure's hard controul;
Her gayest haunts for ever nigh,
Stern mistress of the secret sigh,
That swells the murm'ring soul.

Why haunt'st thou me thro' deserts drear?
With grief-swoln sounds why wound my ear,
Denied to Pity's aid?
Thy visage wan did e'er I woo,
Or at thy feet in homage bow,
Or court thy sullen shade?

Even now enchanted scenes abound,
Elysian glories strew the ground,
To lure th' astonish'd eyes;
Now horrors, hell, and furres reign,
And desolate the fairy scene
Of all its gay disguise.

The passions at thy urgent call,
Our reason and our sense enthral
In frenzy's fetters strong.
And now Despair with lurid eye
Doth meagre poverty descry,
Subdu'd by famine long.

The lover flies the haunts of day,
In gloomy woods and wilds to stray,
There shuns his Jessy's scorn;
Sad sisters of the sighing grove
Attune their lyres to hapless love,
Dejected and forlorn.

Yet Hope undaunted wears thy chain,
And smiles amidst the growing pain,
Nor fears thy sad dismay;
Unaw'd by power her fancy flies
From earth's dim orb to purer skies,
Realms of endless day.