Classic Poem

Long have I wander'd o'er the plain,
In quest of one, a gentle swain—
A swain—of soul refined;
Who, void of care, would all day long,
Attentive listen to my song,
On mossy bank—reclined:

At eve—to sit the brook beside,
To watch the gently purling tide,
The sparkling wave to view:
To catch, perchance, the lucent bow,
While in the glassy stream, below,
We trace each varied hue.

For me,—when such my blissful lot,
By all the bustling world forgot,
I'll sit, unenvied, down;
Far from the scenes of gay delight,
Where sparkling beauties, share the night
With foplings, of renown.