Classic Poem

If vases curious to behold,
Or sculpter'd forms in frames of gold,
Or Cabinets inrich'd with gems,
Or tyrian Robes with Silver hems —
Were mine to give this Natal day
Should be adorn'd with all things gay
The woodland nymphs with braided hair
Should to your hand the presents bear
Hygiea too should lead the train
And make the fears of friendship vain
Nor storms nor tempests should allay
The sunshine of this holiday. —

— But ah the myrtle wreath alone
Is all the treasure that I own
With that Apollo bids me crown
The temples of her favour'd son
Calabrian Muses lends their aid
And brings from the aonian shade
The sweetest of the mystic flowers —
Which Moist with dew from sacred showers —
Calliope asists to twine —
And deck that manly brow of thine. —
The muse can give immortal fame —
When paint and statues lose their name. —
Inscribed marble wears away —
But numbers never can decay —
The power that draws thy merits forth —
And best rewards thy modest worth.
You strive your virtues to Conceal —
But numbers shall their light reveal —
And give to future time their blaze —
As undiminish'd as their praise. —
While festive Joy and harmless Mirth —
Shall crown the day that gave thee birth. —