Classic Poem

I CALL THEE from the ivy Bow'r,
At Ev'ning's sad and pensive Hour;
When Silence throws her witching Spell,
Around where thou art wont to dwell;
Or, if by fainting Moonlight's Wane,
Thou musest on the fairy Plain;
Or, on the Sea's responsive Shore,
Thou listen'st to the wild Wind's roar;
Oh — light upon my timid Sight,
And chase the visionary Spright,
That in the air-blue Flame now plays,
Regardless of my tender Lays!
Dear S ENSIBILITY , impart
Thy chasten'd Feeling to my Heart;

Convey me 'mid the Storms of Night,
To the brown Mountain's giddy Height;
Where 'tentive to the sweeping Blast,
I'll meditate on Sorrows past;
And as the Cascade's Waters roll,
Their hollow Murmurs shall delight my Soul!

Oft as I stray the dewy Lawn,
At Day's refreshing early Dawn;
I feel thy virtuous Pow'r dispense,
Religion's meekness o'er my Sense;
Thy soft Infatuation throw
A transient Calm o'er bursting Woe;
And as I drink the Breeze of Spring,
Or trace the Linnet's flutt'ring Wing;
Sweet Contemplation deigns to shed,
Her placid Glories o'er my Head; —
Whilst Thou , with mild enquiring Eye,
Return'st the sympathizing Sigh —
Each fine Emotion of my Soul,
Expanded by thy pure Controul,

Disdains to blot from Mem'ry's Leaf,
Th' Impressions of her early Grief:
Thus S ENSIBILITY , I raise
To Thee my sad devoted Lays;
Around thy Temples I'll entwine,
The Myrtle, Laurel, and the Cypress Vine.

In vain shall sparkling Mirth advance,
With Folly in the rosy Dance;
Gay Pleasure with her Summer Crew,
Now fades before my pensive View;
No Joys illume my weary Eye,
Save the proud Tear — the parting Sigh;
Ah what's to me the jocund Hour,
Of Gaiety or Wealth, the Pow'r;
The splendid Scene no Charm can find,
To cure my Lassitude of Mind. —
Oh! S ENSIBILITY , thy starting Tear
Obeys the Impulse of corrosive Fear;
Thy fine thin Form, with fervid Feeling wrought,
Points to th' attentive Gaze the Bliss of Thought! —
The conscious Vigil on thy burning Lids,
The Calmy Purposes of Sleep forbids;
And thy sweet Voice such Melody conveys,
As far excells the Muse's softest Lays;
Then let me live to feel thy Force divine,
And oh! the Taste of Sympathy be mine! —