Classic Poem

Chaste Nymph, thy fav'rite Haunts I'll stray,
Where the mild Summer Breezes play;
Where sportive Nature round her throws,
The Perfume of the blushing Rose;
The Jessamine and scented Briar,
In mingled od'rous Sweets expire;
Or where the Suckle's beaut'ous Flow'r,
In wildest Luxury of Fold,
Adorns thy ancient secret Bow'r,
With richest vegitable Gold: —
Or if beneath the Palm Tree's Shade,
Thou musest, SOLITARY MAID;
And to the Stream that murmurs by,
Giv'st the soft sympathizing Sigh;

Or shouldst Thou , from yon Mountain's haughty Brow,
Pour on the list'ning Wind some tender Vow;
Thither I'll climb, responsive to the Tale,
And the same Vow impress upon the Gale: —
Where'er thou art, or known to dwell,
On Hill, or Vale, or Rock, or Dell;
I'll woo Thee to my gentle Breast,
And court thee, Solitude , for Happiness and Rest.

Yes — I have stray'd, ere Night hath chid
The Slumbers from her sedgy Lid;
Just as the lust'rous Star of Morn
Hath glanc'd upon the blue-eyed Dawn;
And from the Meadows brush'd the Dews,
That twinkled with the Rainbow's Hues:
While pure Reflection o'er my Wishes stole,
Entranc'd the Sense and vivified the Soul;
There first my simple Muse by Nature taught,
Glow'd with Delight, and nurs'd the infant Thought;
There first in fairy Numbers strove to fling,
Her rude Hand o'er the Lyre's enchanting String;
And, as gay Fancy sped th' enamel'd Plain,
Or proudly swept the Galaxy's bright Train,
The conscious Fervor, with a Bliss divine,
Hung on the Lay, and harmoniz'd the Line.

I too have sought the fragrant Bow'r,
At Day's Meridian burning Hour;
And from the Noontide's sultry Heat,
Enjoy'd thy tranquil cool Retreat;
There I have dwelt on Pleasures fled,
A ND DROPT THE TEAR O'ER WORTH SINCE DEAD ;
To Love and holy Friendship true,
Paid the last feeling Tribute due: —
E'en now these weeping Eyes their Streams impart,
While Sorrow twines her Cypress round my Heart!
O SOLITUDE, thou bid'st the latent Pain,
On Mem'ry rush, and riot in the Vein:
'Tis thine to wake the dormant Griefs of Years,
And cause the Fountains to renew their Tears;
Yet, holy Nymph, the soft Emotions flow,
With the mixt Ecstacy of Joy and Woe!

Within thy sacred blest Retreat,
Fair Science deigns to fix her Seat;
There Reason holds imperial Sway,
In Lustre of serenest Day;
Philosophy with Genius roves,
Through thy consecrated Groves;
And meek Religion loves to dwell
Within thy antiquated Cell;
There Silence too for ever reigns,
In thy romantic winding Plains;
And nought around her Footsteps' heard,
Save the sweet Warblings of the Bird;
There SOLITUDE the Muse shall weave,
Around thy Brows, — AN AROMATIC WREATHE