Classic Poem

HE , whose mean soul pollutes the name of PAUL ,
With FRANCE conspiring, dooms great SUWARROW 's fall;
Just when the fervour of his dauntless mind
Aspired completely to avenge mankind.
If martial glory, stung with keen distress,
Her drooping laurels views, and hints redress;
If heaven born genius bids the man be free;
Away, with magick speed his honours flee;
Despair, with iron hand precludes relief;
He fought unconquered; but he dies with grief:
No friend repeats fair fame's harmonious breath;
No friend consoles him in the hour of death.

If despotism excites not all thy hate,
Indignant reader, think on SUWARROW 's fate;
With servile adulation art thou pained?
Oh! think how ALFRED ; think how Virtue reigned!