Classic Poem

O, thou, in every form by Fancy drawn,
Still at my pillow, when descends the dawn;
Still round my head, in blissful visions roll,
Thou breath divine — thou seraph of my soul.

I saw thee distant, even in infant years,
When Life's sad morn commenc'd in clouds and tears;
When sorrow's tide o'erwhelm'd parental worth,
And stern Affliction press'd us to the earth.

To thee 'twas given to bring the lyre the lay,
That sooth'd Depression's long and lingering day;
In Gratitude's dear voice, I own 'twas given,
To form within my breast — a little Heaven!

Still bring, celestial guest, thy hours of glee,
Till hence, in thy blest home, I visit thee!