Classic Poem

Pyrrha, what stripling slim, in use
Of perfumed essences profuse,
Wooes thee on roses laid
In some cool grotto's shade?

Say for whose eye thou hast designed
That knot thy auburn hair to bind
And curb each errant tress,
Thy neat but simple dress.

How oft will he for vows forsworn
And heaven's regard averted mourn,
How often with amaze
On squally sea will gaze!

Whom now, fond dupe, thou dost decoy,
Thy golden sunshine to enjoy,
Who hopes aye kind thou'lt be,
From rival lovers free,

Nor reckons aught of treacherous gale.
Ah! luckless wights who spread their sail
Of perils unaware
Hid 'neath that surface fair!

For me on Neptune's temple wall
A votive tablet's lines recall
My dripping garments brought
To pay for rescue wrought.