Classic Poem

How chang'd is the aspect of yonder retreat,
Since lately I past by its bowers!
When Summer shone forth, in his full fervid heat;
Now, the keen biting blast of the winter winds beat,
All fledg'd with the chill snowy showers.

The fair flowing stream, as its course it pursues,
Is arrested and chill'd into stone;
And where are the flow'rets that bloom'd on its brows —
Its violets, and snow drops, of delicate hues?
Alas! they are withered and gone.

How dull the dumb cattle, all cringing with cold,
As they gaze at the snow-cover'd heath!
And the poor helpless flocks, that are forc'd from their fold!
The gathering wreath, in its bosom has roll'd,
And depriv'd half their number of breath.

So chill'd are my prospects, o'ercast with despair, —
So fate doth my fancy arrest;
With sorrow, and sickness, and canker-tooth'd care,
My tenderest ties, are all vanished to air,
And chill'd the fond hopes of the breast.

The dark sheety clouds, as they're floating on high,
Their wings o'er the concave extend;
O'er the snow-topped mountains, in order pass by,
Through their chinks peeps the sun, from a dull murky sky,
Like the far distant glance of a friend.

As the Sun is the soul of this planet below —
To creation new life doth impart;
So Friendship beams forth on the wretch worn with woe,
Dispels ev'ry doubt, and each fear doth forego —
Beams a new love of life on the heart.

Dear Friendship, sweet solace! thy joys let me prove! —
Thou soother of sorrow and strife —
Thou dearer than riches, thou surer than love —
Thou pledge of each joy that awaits us above —
Thou charmer and pilot through life.

Serene is thy aspect, and modest thy mien,
Content ever bears up thy train;
And sweet smiling Peace, with her olive so green,
And gay rosy Mirth by thy side may be seen;
And Truth ever blesses thy reign.

I've seen thy sweet smiles in yon straw-cover'd cot,
Ere the winter blast thus on it beat:
Thou deign'st oft to visit the cottager's lot,
And cheer the lone haunts of his chequered spot,
But fly'st from the halls of the great.

Thou smooth'st the dull brow of the dark clouded mind,
And sooth'st every pang that is past:
Tho' crosses may wreck us, or poverty pine,
With thee, ev'n the wretched a comfort can find,
When absent, the world is a waste.