No statesman then, without a song sincere,
The cumb'rous burthen of a country bear;
The stately epic shall prolong his praise,
Borne on the tide of time to distant days,
And future states confess his wisdom, crown'd
With all the magic of melodious sound.
No more, to merit ignorantly blind,
Shall pomp, in solemn secrecy enshrin'd,
Bestow on flatt'ry the misjudging ear,
While unregarded worth stands shiv'ring near
Those, whose superior talents boldly claim ̧
Respectful homage to a noble name;
Who look'd on fortune with unalter'd eye,
Prompt, or to greatly live, or bravely die;
Or, by some grand emprize, aspir'd above
All meaner toys to universal love;
Corruption chaining to its loathsome den,
Shall triumph in desert, and feel as men!
Approving Britain, steady to confide
In truth, so often by her fathers tried,
When shrinking the pale crest from circling foes,
Her languid lilly woo'd the hardier rose,
And, emulative touch'd with gen'rous shame,
Shall fan true Freedom's undiminish'd flame;
And weigh'd impartial in her golden scales,
O'er lordly pow'r the peasant's plea prevails;
All legal labyrinths of dull delay,
Develop'd to the candid eye of day;
Themis, from heav'n descending, shall behold
A GEORGE's virtues grace an age of gold.
A MONODY ON DR. FRANKLIN.
AND art thou fall'n from thy majestic height,
Bold bird of Jove? the lightning of thine eye
Wont to pursue the rebels of the sky,
Extinct and all thy former vigour gone,
In such a space! Lamented patriot, say,
Is thy full sun of glory clos'd in night?
Has death extinguish'd ev'ry genuine ray,
Erst beaming from thy breast, truth's spotless
throne?
Ah, me! how short mortality's sad reign,
How short our durance in life's vile abode!
When fate commands, all terrine ties, how vain,
Vain the calm sceptre or tyrannic rod !
Equality unfolds her russet pall,
With portion just, o'er all;
And dull oblivion mars the pageant dream!
Quaint scutcheons, high wrought tombs are seen,
Low as the humble shepherd's hillock green,
And o'er that hillock green, as pure tears stream
And sighs as fervent heave,
As o'er the classic urn, or civic grave?
But o'er the classic urn, the civic grave,
Shall nations bid no laureate honors wave;
Say, shall a Moira sink without a name,
A Milton seek the shade unken'd by partial fame?
Lo! from Parnassian dell the Muses come,
And Fancy, fair, her temples bound
With flow'rets, cull'd from ev'ry plain around
Each verdant stalk, or bell,
Dank with Castalian dews, and dipt in loveliest
Struck by her wand, in mystic guise
Ten thousand sprites arise
Obedient to the spell!
In bright array th' aërial squadrons throng;
Honour, her eye-ball fix'd in ardent gaze
On Truth's eternal blaze-
Freedom, with helm of fiery hue,
Her front with many a starry gem
Illum'd, like that rich diadem
That flames a meteor o'er the heav'nly plain,
And draws behind a long and glitt'ring train.
Like palmer old yclad, with wrinkled brow,
And silver'd locks, the long-drawn troop doth join ; Though eld has feebled his weak tott'ring frame, And public cares to craze his head combine,
And frigid thoughts earth-born, confound his schemes divine.
Now from the rest th' immortal queen appears!
To her these winged minstrels bow,
And to their lyres accord the lofty song,
That gives some chosen son to fame.
Virtue, th' immortal queen, well-pleas'd, commends
Their high heroic theme, their sounding harp
Meet, or for Doric reed, or Spartan fife!
And o'er each bard with fond attention bends.
No sound offends the ear, of discord sharp,
No tone, express of inharmonic strife;
But cease-th' immortal queen, with humid eye,
And paly cheek, signs of excessive woe,
Draws from her aching breast one matchless sigh,
Bids from her lid one tear ambrosian flow,
"Thou, last and best executor
Of all my grand behests! thou, faithful slave
Of heav'n, to nothing less than heav'n a slave,
Accept this off'ring from a hand divine.
Lo! in this crown I've braided flow'rs more sweet
Than amaranth, more lasting too, and more
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