Classic Poem

BEAUTIES OF THAT CITY.

When to this sacred fane I bent my way,
No raging passion struggled in my breast;
My heart was light, and innocently gay,
And cares long felt were lull'd a while to rest.
I meant alone to pay my vows to heaven,
When lo! such angel forms assail'd my view;
Quick throbbing pulses thro' my frame were driven,
And ease and quiet bade my heart adieu.
O mark the change! who to this church repair,
For ye like me perhaps may sometime prove,
That house which was design'd a house of pray'r,
Is the fam'd temple of the god of love.