Classic Poem

" Damon by all the Powers above
" Plighted to me eternal love;
" And as a rose adorn'd my breast,
" He on its leaf the vow imprest;
" But, while the winds did round us play,
" Vow, leaf, and promise blew away. "

For this , when Summer mornings glow,
O! shall I veil their beams in woe;
And 'mid the rosy hours of youth,
Weep and repine o'er vanish'd truth?
No! let me hail the shining day,
Blithe as the lark, that meets its ray.

Beauty, and Health, have joys that prove
Balm for the wounds of slighted Love;
And when a faithful Lover gains
The heart a FALSE-ONE now disdains,
Ungrateful Damon may deplore
What vain regret shall ne'er restore.

Celia to Damon then shall say,
" Vow, leaf, and promise, blew away; "
And to those winds I gave my grief,
That bore the love-recorded leaf;
Nor do I chide the gales, or thee,
Since thou art false, — and I am free!

And till return those hours of prime,
Borne with the onward stream of Time;
Yes, till the Spring restores to me
That very leaf , inscribed by thee,
Scorning thy sighs, shall Celia say,
Vow, leaf, and promise, blew away!

II.

The stormy Ocean roving,
My William seeks the Foe.
Ah, me! the pain of loving,
To war when Lovers go!

O! why my locks, so yellow,
Shou'd rosy garlands bind,
When trembles yonder willow
As blows the sullen wind?

Ye Nymphs, who feel no anguish,
My Garlands gay ye wove,
But I in absence languish,
And fear for him I love.

Nor yet the sprays of willow
Shall wave my temples o'er,
But weeds, that Ocean's billow
Leaves dark upon the shore.

Pale willows suit the sorrow
The fair Forsaken knows;
Fierce W AR has wing'd the arrow,
That wounds my soul's repose.

Sad on the beach I linger,
And watch the altering Sea;
But no cold doubts shall injure,
My Love is true to me.

Yet, till rest crown my pillow,
Till Peace my Love restore,
Be mine the weeds yon billow
Leaves dark upon the shore!

III.

Recitative .

M Y Stella sleeps, the sultry hour
Seals her sweet eye-lids in the bower!
And see! the snowy rose she wore
Has fall'n upon the verdant floor.

AIR .

Ah, rose! thou hast fled from a throne
Where thy fairness, and scent are outdone.
And the beauties that rival thine own,
Thy envy has taught thee to shun.
And O! since thy thorns might annoy
A breast all the Graces adorn,
To the mansion of love and of joy,
Pale rover, thou shalt not return!