Classic Poem

NO more let France her critic Dacier boast,
The Queen of Isles a M ONTAGU adorns,
Whose genius, tow'ring as her Albion's coast,
The pedant sons of abject flav'ry scorns.

Fair blooms the wreath thy gen'rous hand has wove,
With laurels green thou deck'st thy Shakespeare's head,
Immortal Genius doth the task approve,
And bids his Poet's glories round thee spread.

Thy gen'rous pen was destin'd, sure, to guard
From Gallic-ignorance his injur'd name,
With polish'd science to adorn the Bard,
Bold to admire, yet not afraid to blame.

O! could his shade, where peace, where wisdom reigns,
Thy nervous page behold, with wonder fraught,
Even there the Bard would bless thy friendly strains,
And own his magic felt, his genius caught.

There would he wish, if there a wish can be,
Whene'er his M ONTAGU from earth retires,
Her form in those seraphic realms to see,
And tell what gratitude his bosom fires.