Classic Poem

Bear me, ye friendly powers, to peaceful scenes,
To shady bowers, and never-fading greens,
Where the shrill trumpet never sounds alarms,
Nor martial din is heard, nor clash of arms.
Unenvied may the laurels ever grow,
That never flourish but in human woe:
If never earth the wreath triumphant bears,
Till drench'd in heroes' blood, and orphans' tears.

Hail, ye solt seats! ye limpid springs and floods,
Ye verdant meads, ye vales, and mazy woods,
Ye limpid floods, that ever-murmuring flow,
Ye verdant meads, where flowers eternal blow;
Ye shady vales, where cooling zephyrs play;
Ye woods, where untaught warblers tune their lay!

Here grant me, heav'n, to end my peaceful days,
And steal myself from life by slow decays;
With age, unknown to pain or sorrow, blest,
To the dark grave retiring, as to rest;
While gently with one sigh this mortal frame,
Dissolving, turns to ashes whence it came;
While my freed soul departs without a groan,
And joyful wings her flight to worlds unknown.

Ye gloomy grots, ye awful, solemn cells,
Where heavenly-pensive contemplation dwells,
Guard me from splendid cares, from tiresome state,
The pompous misery of being great!
Content with ease; ambitious to despise
Illustrious vanity, and glorious vice.

While the calm hours steal unperceiv'd away,
Come, thou chaste maid; here let me ever stay;
Here court the muses, while the sun on high
Flames in the vault of heaven, and fires the sky;
Or while still night's dark wings the globe surround,
And the pale moon glides on her solemn round.
Bid my free soul to starry orbs repair,
Those radiant worlds that float in ambient air:
Or when Aurora, from his eastern bowers,
Exhales the fragrance of the balmy flowers,
Reclin'd in silence on a mossy bed,
Consult the learned volumes of the dead;
Fall'n realms and empires in description view,
Live o'er past times, and ancient days renew.

Charm me, ye sacred leaves, with noble themes,
With opening heavens, and angels rob'd in flames.
Ye restless passions, while I read, be aw'd:
Hail! ye mysterious oracles of God !
Here I behold, how infant time began!
How the dust mov'd, and quick'ned into man!
There tread on hallow'd ground, where angels trod,
And reverend patriarchs talk'd as friends with God :
Or hear the voice to slumb'ring prophets given,
Or gaze on visions from the throne of heaven!