Classic Poem

O Skill'd by ev'ry pow'r of tuneful art,
Whose magic leads the willing mind along,
To touch the finest feelings of the heart,
And lend to virtue all the charms of song:

When in the dark abode, where silence reigns,
That ear, which hears thee now, shall hear no more,
Shall thy lov'd music in pathetic strains,
The friend it charm'd in life, in death deplore?

Yes: when from ev'ry busy scene retir'd,
Amidst the solemn twilight's dubious rays,
Thy thoughts by peaceful solitude inspir'd,
Recall the phantoms of departed days:

When to thy soften'd soul my form appears,
By fond affection view'd in fancy's dream,
Thy gentle voice, in sweetly plaintive airs,
Shall to the lyre accord it's tender theme.

If then thy friend, each dreaded fault forgiv'n,
Above all mortal cares, all mortal aims,
In glad security enjoys that heav'n,
Which trembling Penitence from mercy claims;

Perhaps ev'n then, above yon starry sphere,
Thy song a blameless transport shall impart,
Soft witness to the friendship once so dear,
By faithful mem'ry graven on thy heart.

Touch'd by the sorrows, which from virtue flow,
The purer spirit might to earth incline;
To angels point that worth it lov'd below,
And own it's union with a soul like thine.