Classic Poem

II.

Fair Moon, thou travellest in thy silvery sky,
Unmarked by slaves of fashion and of trade,
The wily plodders mute and artless lie,
And mimic brightness plays round grandeur's head.
Yet to thy beam is nobler tribute paid,
Devotion soars and rolls with thee on high,
Soft sensibility invokes thy aid,
And the warm'd Poet lifts th' enraptured eye:
Thus would I wander through life's devious maze,
Content, if valued by the nobler few,
Nor heed the many's censures or their praise,
Their present fame, or after dirges due,
So friendship's blessings round my path be rolled,
And one warm tear embalm my breathless mould.