Classic Poem

Oh ! can there be on earth a lovelier sight,
One that endears us more tOhuman kind,
Than a young groupe of joyous innocents,
In every motion, gaiety and life;
Hope's eager smile on every dimpl'd cheek,
And playful mirth in every beaming eye.
Oh! happy age of guiltless infancy!
Thou only art the golden age of life.
No care is thine, but as one pleasure tires,
Another, and another, still to try,
To make the circling hours more swiftly pass.
When each amusement fails, and on thine eyes
Sleep's gentle pressure steals, no anxious thoughts,
Nor fears for future days, no retrospections sad
Start up and scar the welcome guest away:
Each morn awakes thee to some new delight,
And hope still smiles on each returning day.
Sweet, simple train, enjoy your days of ease,
Too quickly o'er, like blossoms of the spring;
Like the short glories of the showery bow,
The happy hours of childhood pass away,
And with the dawn of reason sorrow comes.
Oft the first pang the youthful bosom feels
Is (the sad hour of separation come)
To part from those they love, from playmates dear,
Through life's long journey ne'er to meet again.
Perhaps a keener wound may yet be given;
The kind protectors of their early days,
Who form'd their tender minds to truth, may die,
And leave them in the world without a guide;
Whilst scattered far, brothers and sisters part
From home, a harder servitude to try
Than that parental tenderness impos'd.
Affection's sole remaining solace now,
The hope of that sweet intercourse to come,
When they with heighten'd love shall meet once more,
May be denied; and they may meet to weep
O'er one lov'd inmate of their little home,
Remov'd for ever by the hand of death.
Such griefs too oft await the morn of youth,
And o'er its early sunshine scatter clouds.
E'en those to whom indulgent heaven grants
A longer respite from the ills of life,
From other sources find disquiet rise.
The gentle maid, a stranger yet to care,
When first to whisper'd vows of love she lends
A list'ning ear, must oft her peace forego.
Th' impatient youth, who, scorning all restraint,
Will seek for pleasure on forbidden ground,
And heedless in the paths of folly tread,
Can feel no more that pure, unmixed joy,
That undisturb'd tranquillity of mind,
The gifts of innocence, which once were his,
Ere first from duty's paths he went astray.