Classic Poem

WHEN Freedom nurs'd her native fire
In ancient Greece, and rul'd the lyre;
Her bards, disdainful, from the tyrant's brow
The tinsel gifts of flattery tore;
But paid to guiltless pow'r their willing vow:
And to the throne of virtuous kings,
Tempering the tone of their vindictive strings,
From truth's unprostituted store,
The fragrant wreath of gratulation bore.
'Twas thus Alcæus smote the manly chord;
And Pindar on the Persian Lord
His notes of indignation hurl'd,
And spurn'd the minstrel slaves of eastern sway,
From trembling Thebes extorting conscious shame;
But o'er the diadem, by Freedom's flame
Illum'd, the banner of renown unfurl'd:
Thus to his Hiero decreed,
'Mongst the bold chieftams of the Pythian game,
The brightest verdure of Castalia's bay
And gave an anipler meed
Of Pisan palms, than in the field of Fame
Were wont to crown the car's victorious speed:
And hail'd his sceptred champion's patriot zeal,
Who mix'd the monarch's with the people's weal;
From civil plans who claim'd applause,
And train'd obedient realms to Spartan laws.

And he, sweet master of the Doric ote,
Theocritns, forsook awhile
The graces of his pastoral isle,
The lowing vale, the bleating cote,
The clusters on the sunny steep,
And Pan's own umbrage, dark and deep,
The caverns hung with ivy-twine,
The cliffs that wav'd with oak and pine,
And Etna's hoar romantic pile:
And caught the bold Homeric note,
In stately sounds exalting high
The reign of bounteous Ptolemy:
Like the plenty-teeming tide
Of his own Nile's redundant flood,
O'er the cheer'd nations, far and wide,
Diffusing opulence and public good;
While in the richly-warbled lays
Was blended Berenice's name,
Pattern fair of female fame,
Softening with domestic life
Imperial splendor's dazzling rays,
The queen, the mother, and the wife!

To deck with honour due this festal day,
O for a strain from these sublimer bards!
Who free to grant, yet fearless to refuse
Their awful suffrage, with impartial aim
Invok'd the jealous panegyric Muse;
Nor, but to genuine worth's severer claim,
Their proud distinction deign'd to pay,
Stern arbiters of glory's bright awards!
For peerless bards like these alone,
The bards of Greece might best adorn,
With seemly song the Monarch's natal morn;
Who, thron'd in the magnificence of peace,
Rivals their richest regal theme;
Who rules a people like their own,
In arms, in polish'd arts supreme;
Who bids his Britain vie with Greece.