Classic Poem

Let others draw from smiling skies their theme
And tell of climes, that boast unceasing light:
I draw a darker scene replete with gloom,
I sing the horrors, and the shades of night.

Stranger, believe the truth experience tells,
Poetic dreams are of a livelier cast
Than those, which o'er the sober brain diffused,
Repeat the images of some action past.

Fancy, I own thy power! when sunk in sleep,
Thou playest thy wild delusive part so well,
You raise us into immortality,
Depict new heavens, or draw dark scenes of hell.

By some sad means, when reason holds no sway,
Lonely I roved at midnight o'er a plain
Where murmuring streams, and mingling rivers flow
Far from their springs, and seek the sea again.

Sweet vernal May —tho' then thy woods, in bloom,
Flourished, yet nought of this could Fancy see:
No wild pinks blessed the meads, no green the fields,
And naked seemed to stand each lifeless tree.

Dark was the sky, and not one friendly star
Shone from the zenith, or horizon clear;
Mist sate upon the plains, and darkness rode
In her dark chariot, with her ebon spear.

And from the wilds, the late resounding note
Issued, of the loquacious whipperwill
Hoarse, howling dogs, and nightly-roving wolves
Clamoured from far-off cliffs, invisible.

Rude, from the deep, vast foaming Chesapeke
I heard the winds the dashing waves assail:
And saw from far, by picturing fancy formed,
The black ship travelling thro' the adverse gale.

At last, by chance, and guardian fancy, led,
I reached a noble dome, raised fair and high,
And saw the light from upper-windows glare,
Presage of mirth and hospitality.

And, by that light, around the dome appeared
A mournful garden of autumnal hue,
Its lately pleasing flowers, all drooping, stood
Amidst high weeds, that in rank plenty grew.

The primrose there, the violet darkly blue,
Daisies, and fair narcissus ceased to rise;
Gay spotted pinks their charming bloom withdrew,
And polyanthus quenched its thousand dyes.

No pleasant fruit, or blossom gaily smiled—
Nought but unhappy plants and trees were seen,
The yew, the myrtle, and the gloomy elm,
The cypress, with her melancholy green:

There cedars dark, the osier, and the pine,
Shorn tamarisks, and weeping willows grew;
The poplar tall, the lotos, and the lime,
And pyracantha, did her leaves renew:

The poppy, there, companion to repose,
Displayed her blossoms, that began to fall;
And there the purple amaranthus rose,
With mint, strong-scented, for the funeral.

And here and there, with laurel shrubs between,
A tombstone lay, inscribed with strains of woe;
And stanzas sad, throughout the dismal green,
Lamented for the dead, that slept below.

Among the graves a spiry building stood,
Whose tolling bell, resounding through the shade,
Sung doleful ditties to the adjacent wood;
And many a dismal, drowsy thing it said:

“This fabric tall, with towers and chancels graced,
“Was raised by churchmen's hands, in ages fled;
“The roof they painted, and the beams they braced,
“And texts from Moses o'er the walls they spread:

“But wicked were their hearts, for they refused
“To aid the helpless orphan, when distrest;
“The shivering, naked stranger they mis-used,
“And banished from their doors the starving guest.

“By laws protected, cruel and prophane,
“The poor man's ox these monsters drove away;—
“And left distress to attend the infant train,
“No friend to comfort, and no bread to stay!

“But heaven looked on, with keen resentful eye,
“And doomed them to perdition and the grave;
“That, as they felt not for the wretch distrest,
“So heaven no pity on their souls would have.

“In pride they raised this building, tall and fair;
“Their hearts were on perpetual mischief bent:
“With pride they preached, and pride was in their prayer;
“With pride they were deceived—and so to hell they went.”