Classic Poem

In some kind dream upon her slumbers steal,
And to Lucinda all I beg reveal;
Breathe gentlest words into her ears,
Words full of love but full of fears:
Such words as may prevail, like prayers
From a poor dying martyr's tongue,
By the sweet voice of pity sung.

Touch with the voice the more enchanting lute,
To make the charms strike all repulses mute;
These may insensibly impart
My tender wishes to her heart,
And by a sympathetic force
So tune its strings to love's discourse
That when my griefs compel a groan,
Her sighs may echo to my moan.