Classic Poem

Sweet maid of Thought, with Mind serene,
Whose soft Persuasion oft I ween;
Thou pleasing Guardian of my Hours,
When murky Care my Passion sours;
How shall I strike the lofty Lyre,
How charge the Strings with lambent Fire;
How raise to Thee the chastened Song,
To whom the Sympathies belong! —

Oft ere the ruby God of Morn
Hath bask'd upon the dewy Thorn;
Or yet the Nymph of early Day
Hath chas'd the Fogs of Night away;
I've met Thee in the twilight Shade,
As walking through my fav'rite Glade;
Held Converse with thy searching Eye,
And from Thee learnt Philosophy —

When torn with Love, my breaking Heart
Hath felt the saddest, keenest Smart,
Of Jealousy's devoted Rage;
Those fervid Pangs that erst engage,
With fear distrest, the tender Mind,
I've seen Thee in the gentle Wind —
In Meekness clad, with all the Grace
Of Beauty's soft enchanting Face;
Thy lovely Features shone so bright,
They gave a new created Light;
And with their Lustre charm'd my Soul,
To Resignation's mild controul. —

Chaste Maid — 'tis thou, canst Human Nature give,
The temper'd Wisdom — how to think and live .