Classic Poem

And think'st thou that Woman will smile upon those,
Whom Adversity marks for her own?
Ah, no! — hand in hand with dame Fortune she goes,
On the affluent only her love she bestows,
And thinks that the fount from which happiness flows,
Is splendor and riches alone.

I hop'd that my Emily's love would not fade,
Though fortune and friends were all flown;
Foolish thought! — with my hopes her feign'd passion decay'd,
And deserted and spurn'd by the treacherous maid,
Adversity's storm I am doom'd to pervade,
Unpitied, uncheer'd, and alone!