Classic Poem

Strown is the path of Life with various woes;
And true it seems, that man would gladly rest,
Where no sad fears and wasting cares molest,
In the calm shades of undisturb'd repose:
Yet, when our weary pilgrimage we close,
A warm regret disturbs the aching breast,
To leave those fields in smiling verdure drest,
That sun, whose orb with golden lustre glows.
Sweet Friendship's charms, and Love's endearing ties,
Hold back the soul, and draw a tender tear;
And though warm Faith might chace the dismal gloom,
In Fancy lifted to her promis'd skies,
The mind, misgiving oft, with anxious fear
Sees a dark dreary waste beyond the tomb.