Classic Poem

A SONG , After her recovery from a fit of sickness .

I.

When at bleak W INTER 's stern command,
Fair nature's blooming beauties fade,
And the sad groves all leafless stand,
And wither'd is each pleasing shade ;

II.

No nightingale, or linnet gay,
Is heard to wake the sprightly strain,
No turtle pours her love-lorn lay,
To sooth the soul of am'rous swain.

III.

But when the jovial hours appear,
That usher in the vernal breeze,
When young-ey'd spring bedecks the year,
And clothes in verdant robe the trees ;

IV.

The feather'd choristers prepare
To swell the gratulating song,
While thro' the soft expanse of air,
Wild Music sweetly floats along.

V.

So when my Sylvia, lovely maid !
Is by the touch of sickness pain'd,
When on her cheeks the roses fade,
And with pale white her lips are stain'd ;

VI.

Oh then ! my heart, oppress'd with woe
And inward anguish, pines away ;
Nor from my lips does music flow,
A stranger to the warbling lay —

VII.

But if the charming nymph renews
The lively look, and health's soft bloom ;
Into my breast it does infuse
New life, and dissipates my gloom.

VIII.

Soon then I snatch the willing reed,
And soon it sounds my Sylvia's name ;
My wond'ring flocks forget to feed,
And listen while I tell my flame.

IX.

Again the smiling sparkling eye
Beams lustre o'er her heav'nly face ;
Again the cheek of vermil dye
Sheds, blushful round, its wonted grace —

X.

Again her heaving breasts betray
A passion of sublimer kind ;
There all the loves and graces play,
And there th' unerring archer blind.

XI.

Again I clasp her round, in bliss,
And press the yielding melting palm ;
Again I steal th' ambrosial kiss
From lips distilling sweetest balm !