Classic Poem

While some can flatter, and while some despise —
Sweet praise is honour from the just and wise.
The gentle muses, once in distant time
Ev'n chear'd the warrior with their strains sublime,
And royalty, in Britain's favour'd isle
Has sooth'd them with its bright and princely smile.
The brave, we know, are lib'ral to commend,
The gallant S IDNEY once was S PENSER'S friend!
And mine, an humbler muse (by Heaven's decree)
Still finds a flower — by candour left for me.
Vain is the incense which the bard receives
That superficial vote which fashion gives
It lives one little hour — with flutt'ring pride
The heart exults, and values nought beside;
Oh fatal joy! which genius may deplore,
While truth and wisdom dreads its poison more.
I ask thee not — 'tis better far to dwell
Where deep oblivion forms its darkest cell:
If sweet applause shou'd there its lustre cast,
To righteous Heaven is giv'n the praise at last.

Oh B — — , while thy name so truly dear
By mem'ry's soft delusion charms my ear —
Whilst fancy shall retain that aspect mild
Which once so meekly look'd, so sweetly smil'd,
The gentle mother — whose enchanting air
No pen can trace, no picture can declare,
Her courteous son my ardent thanks must claim,
Ennobling still her fair respected name.
Blest be his lot, refresh'd with hopes divine?
In life's advance, more radiant still to shine
Till endless day shall nobler honours bring,
And smiles approving, from an heavenly king.