Classic Poem

Our guard upon the royal side!
On the reverse our beauty's pride!
Here we discern the frown and smile,
The force and glory of our isle.
In the rich medal, both so like
Immortals stand, it seems antique;
Carved by some master, when the bold
Greeks made their Jove descend in gold,
And Danae wondering at that shower,
Which falling, stormed her brazen tower.
Britannia there, the fort in vain
Had battered been with golden rain;
Thunder itself had failed to pass;
Virtue's a stronger guard than brass.