Classic Poem

Fair Tivy, how sweet are thy waves gently flowing,
Thy wild oaken woods, and green eglantine bow'rs,
Thy banks with the blush-rose and amaranth glowing
While friendship and mirth claim these labourless hours!
Yet weak is our vaunt, while something we want,
More sweet than the pleasure which prospects can give;
Come, smile, damsels of Cardigan,
Love can alone make it blissful to live.

How sweet is the odour of jasmine and roses,
That Zephyr around us so lavishly flings!
Perhaps for Bleanpant fresh perfume he composes,
Or tidings from Bronwith auspiciously brings;
Yet weak is our vaunt, while something we want,
More sweet than the pleasure which odours can give:
Come, smile, damsels of Cardigan,
Love can alone make it blissful to live.

How sweet was the strain that enliven'd the spirit,
And cheer'd us with numbers so frolic and free!
The poet is absent; be just to his merit;
Ah! may he in love be more happy than we;
For weak is our vaunt, while something we want,
More sweet than the pleasure the Muses can give:
Come, smile, damsels of Cardigan,
Love can alone make it blissful to live.

How gay is the circle of friends round a table,
Where stately Kilgarran o'er hangs' the brown dale;
Where none are unwilling, and few are unable,
To sing a wild song, or repeat a wild tale!
Yet weak is our vaunt, while something we want,
More sweet than the pleasure that friendship can give:
Come, smile, damsels of Cardigan,
Love can alone make it blissful to live.

No longer then pore over dark gothic pages,
To cull a rude gibberish from Neatheam or Brooke;
Leave year-books and parchments to grey-bearded sages;
Be nature and love, and fair woman, our book:
For weak is our vaunt, while something we want,
More sweet than the pleasure that learning can give;
Come, smile, damsels of Cardigan,
Love can alone make it blissful to live.

Admit that our labours were crown'd with full measure,
And gold were the fruit of rhetorical flow'rs,
That India supplied us with long-hoarded treasure,
That Dinevor, Slebeck, and Coidsmore were ours;
Yet weak is our vaunt, while something we want,
More sweet than the pleasure that riches can give:
Come, smile, damsels of Cardigan.
Love can alone make it blissful to live.

Or say, that, preferring fair Thames to fair Tivy,
We gain'd the bright ermine robes, purple and red:
And peep'd through long perukes, like owlets through ivy,
Or say, that bright coronets blaz'd on our head;
Yet weak is our vaunt, while something we want,
More sweet than the pleasure that honours can give
Come, smile, damsels of Cardigan,
Love can alone make it blissful to live.