Classic Poem

Building of Castles did commence
In days of old, for our defence,
And usually erected were,
Adjacent to the seat of war;
Where blood and slaughter did abound,
And drench'd with gore the thirsty ground;
Where powder, darts, and bullets flew,
Nor one relenting passion knew;
But winging through the smoak and fire,
Made thousands groan, bleed, and expire.

Castles were built firm and secure,
Wherein some treasure to insure;
With cells and caverns, dark, profound,
And walls impregnable around.
Its direful decorations are
The whole artillery of war;
Cannons and muskets, swords and bombs,
Hangers and spears, and fifes and drums;
Bullets, and every fit supply,
Wherewith t' attack the enemy.

Some Castles too, of which we hear,
Are fabricated in the air;
But these are of the mental kind,
The sole Construction of the mind.
We in these aether castles ride,
With all the equipage of pride,
And in imagination rise,
Superior monarchs of the skies.
One blast this edifice destroys,
Abortive are our promis'd joys.
Our Ministry this Castle built,
By which the blood of thousands spilt;
Fancy'd a thousand men or two
Could all A MERICA subdue:
But thrice ten thousand cross'd the main,
A million's in the contest slain:
Yet, Ah! fell Castle, direful ill,
A MERICA'S unconquer'd still.

Castles are an imperfect plan,
Of that superior creature — Man.
The body is a Castle where,
The most intrinsic treasures are;
Well fraught with arms for man's defence,
As reason, recollection, sense;
Which if we exercise aright,
Put all our enemies to flight;
Spoil Envy with her pois'nous dart,
And wound Resentment to the heart;
Bid Discontent and Anger fly,
And each unruly passion die;
Subdue Distrust and sad Despair,
And substitute Contentment there.
Thus conq'ring, we superior rise,
With shouts of vict'ry to the skies.
Where ev'ry Conqueror is blest,
In Castles of eternal rest.