Classic Poem

AT BARMOUTH

Freed from the couch of sickness, grief, and pain,
Hither the fainting sufferer comes, to lave
In the cool freshness of the bracing wave
His languid limbs; if so he may regain
The thousand blessings that compose the train
Of rosy health.....And oh! if aught can save
From the dark precincts of the gloomy grave,
Barmouth! 'tis thee and all thy sylvan reign;
Wild are thy rocks, sublime thy mountains rise,
White are the sails beneath thy suns that glide,
Sweet are the sounds that steal across thy tide,
Balmy are all thy gales, and fair thy skies.
But, ah! with thee can I forget my sighs?
Will the sharp pangs that rend my heart subside?