Classic Poem

IRENE.
See how the moon, through all th' unclouded sky,
Spreads her mild radiance, and descending dews
Revive the languid flow'rs; thus nature shone
New from the maker's hand, and fair array'd
In the bright colours of primeval spring;
When purity, while fraud was yet unknown,
Play'd fearless in th' inviolated shades.
This elemental joy, this gen'ral calm,
Is, sure, the smile of unoffended heav'n.
Yet! why--

MAID.
Behold, within th' embow'ring grove
Aspasia stands--

IRENE.
With melancholy mien,
Pensive, and envious of Irene's greatness.
Steal, unperceiv'd, upon her meditations
But see, the lofty maid, at our approach,
Resumes th' imperious air of haughty virtue.
Are these th' unceasing joys, th' unmingled pleasures,
[To Aspasia.
For which Aspasia scorn'd the Turkish crown?
Is this th' unshaken confidence in heav'n?
Is this the boasted bliss of conscious virtue?
When did content sigh out her cares in secret?
When did felicity repine in deserts?

ASPASIA.
Ill suits with guilt the gaieties of triumph;
When daring vice insults eternal justice,
The ministers of wrath forget compassion,
And snatch the flaming bolt with hasty hand.

IRENE.
Forbear thy threats, proud prophetess of ill,
Vers'd in the secret counsels of the sky.

ASPASIA.
Forbear!--But thou art sunk beneath reproach;
In vain affected raptures flush the cheek,
And songs of pleasure warble from the tongue,
When fear and anguish labour in the breast,
And all within is darkness and confusion.
Thus, on deceitful Etna's flow'ry side,
Unfading verdure glads the roving eye;
While secret flames, with unextinguish'd rage,
Insatiate on her wasted entrails prey,
And melt her treach'rous beauties into ruin.
[Enter Demetrius.