Classic Poem

So often seen, it should be nothing new,
That miracles can be perform'd by you;
And yet surpriz'd I read these pleaseing lines;
Where lively Wit, in native sweetness shines,
My long-lost spirit you know how to raise,
And tho I would not like, you force my praise.
Beyond my Praise, you force my Freindship too,
I feel the Gratitude, you make your due,
And warmly wish that Heaven would shew the way
At any price that Gratitude to pay. —
But if there is a pleasure that proceeds
From recollection of good natur'd deeds,
May that be thine, — may every joy attend
The generous Heart that knows to be a Freind,
Can view my weakness with indulgent Eyes
And sooth a Folly which you must despise.
My artless thanks ('tis all I can) receive;
And Blessings, such as wretched Bankrupts give.
The Gods (if Gods can destiny controul,
And view the strugglings of a gratefull Soul)
May point some path, as yet unguess'd by me,
To do a service worthy thanks from thee.
But you, of every Grace, and Good, possess'd,
Can feel no want, nor be (like me) distress'd.
O let me learn the happy courtly Art
To please my Eyes, and not engage my Heart —
Too late, alas! is made this fond request,
The Fatal Form too deeply is impress'd.
This Youth (Delightfull Vision of a day!)
Has snatch'd my reason, and my Soul away.
Lethean Draughts my Quiet must restore,
O were I wafted to that silent Shore
Where I should sigh, and he should charm no more.