Classic Poem

The muse affrighted at the clash of arms,
And all the dire calamities of war,
From Morven's peaceful shades has long retir'd,
And left her faithful votary to mourn,
In sighs, not numbers, o'er her native land.
Dear native land, whom George's hostile slaves
Have drench'd with blood, and spread destruction round,
But thou, thy country's better genius come,
Heroic Washington, and aid my song!
While I the wonders of thy deeds relate,
Thy martial ardor, and thy temp'rate zeal —
Describe the fortitude, the saint like patience,
With which thou hast sustain'd the greatest load,
That ever guardian of his country bore.
What muse can sing the hardships thou endur'd;
Unarm'd, uncloth'd, undisciplin'd thy men;
In winter's cold unhospitable reign;
And press'd by numerous hosts of veteran troops,
All well appointed for the hardy fight:
When quite deserted by the tatter'd bands
Which form'd thy camp (all but a chosen few,
Of spirits like thy own) was forced to fly
From Hudson's side before the victor foe.
Ah! who can paint the horrors of that morn,
When fame, with brazen trumpet, sounded loud,
That Washington retreats! Caesaria's maids,
Old men and matrons, children at the breast,
With hair dishevell'd, and with streaming eyes,
Implore the God of battles to protect
Thee , their best hope, and now their only care.
— Oh, greatly favour'd by the God of hosts!
He gave to thee to turn the battle's fate,
And shew his power to potentates below:
While lines of Hessian captive slaves, announce
Thy triumph, and their haughty lords disgrace.
— Not good Æneas who his father bore,
And all his houshold gods from ruin'd Troy,
Was more the founder of the Latian realm,
Than thou the basis of this mighty fabric,
Now rising to my view, of arms, of arts;
The seat of glory in the western world.
— For thee awaits the patriots shining crown;
The laurel blooms in blest elysian groves,
That twin'd by angel hands shall grace thy brow.
A vacant seat among the ancient heroes,
Of purple, amarynth and fragrant myrtle,
Awaits for thee — high rais'd above the rest,
By Cato, Sydney, and the sacred shades
Of bright illustrious line, from Greece and Rome,
Gallic, American or British shores,
And long to hail thee welcome to the bower.
— Late may they lead thee to the blest abode,
And may'st thou meet the plaudit of thy God,
While future ages shall enroll thy name
In sacred annals of immortal fame.