Classic Poem

Till grim Edward, haughty lord,
Cambria's peaceful bosom gor'd;
Seat of Freedom, song divine,
There each Grace was seen to shine,
Tho' now no more explor'd:
There, whilom, thro' each oaky grove,
Prince and Druid wont to rove;
Mute the harp and sweet-strung lyre,
Silent Penmaen's craggy shore,
Lost the pure poetic fire,
Prince and Druid are no more:
Yet see! still more immortal now they reign,
For Briton's genius smiles on favour'd Gray ,
Sublimest Bard amid the tuneful train,
Then bids him boldly tread their starry-way;
And to record their deeds, on purpose wrought,
An adamantine pen bestow'd, with genius fraught.