Classic Poem

The beauty of nature my theme,
Permit O ye shepherds the tone;
Permit me to pipe by your stream,
SABRINA, unrival'd by one.

And now, — for my SCRANNEL's in tune,
Phyllyra may liften the while;
PHILLYRA, as blooming as June,
As chafte as simplicity's smile.

Behold her — of virgins the pride,
Ye swains! — and she's fond of my skill;
For her , the young zephyrs have sigh'd,
And Cupids frequented the hill.

Nor pinks, nor the violet's bloom,
Nor Poppies, the produce of MAY;
Nor the roses in CHLORIS's loom,
Nor CHLORIS herself is so gay.

Soft innocence beams in her eye,
Resplendent wherever we meet;
Her cheeks are AURORA's own sky,
That crimsons 'neath Phebus's feet.

With transport the HARBOURS among,
In Kingsland , on daisies we tread;
Or listen with rapture the song,
Of linnets, and larks of the mead.

And others, the sons of the grove,
Glad minstrels that hail the gay morn;
And warble their sonnets of love,
Recluse in the dew-spangled thorn.

Yon QUARRY Elysium the seene,
Surpassing description sweet place;
Where bord'ring the pastures so green,
Tall LIMES with their branches embrace.

There oft, we caress in the shade,
And there my PHILLYRA and me;
In alcoves that nature has made,
By NATURE are taught to agree.