Classic Poem

Known, tho' unnam'd , since, shunning vulgar praise ,
Thy muse wou'd shine , and, yet, conceal her rays,
Think thyself hid ; and hope, in vain, to be
Unseen , like light , that shews us all, we see .

But, while thy readers are deny'd thy name ,
They feel , thy genius , and attest thy flame .
They pity, too, in death , thy noteless friend ,
Poor by the generous aid , thy wealth wou'd lend,
Prefac'd by thee , his feeble lights expire ,
Even, in producing , thou obscur'st , his fire.

N OT , but the muse had warm'd his youthful song!
Bold were his notes! and his ideas strong!
But, where domestic dearness warp'd his lays,
And partial birth misled the patriot praise ,
Wilt thou not join , to blame the bounded zeal ,
That bids us, only , for our Country feel?
Yes — Thou wilt censure this too scanty care,
That shuts out pity , and appropriates prayer:
Thou wilt enlarge affection, till it sees ,
Beyond itself; and pants for public ease.
Stretch liberty — to disengage mankind ,
And, ev'n, from nature's byass, free the mind .

W HAT , tho' (we know not why) soft, inbred pride;
Make home , seem sweetest , and can choice misguide ,
Till native darkness erring taste constrains,
And Lapland desarts rival Persia's plains .
Let the soul's reach the heart's restraint reprove ,
And widen, to the world , our Country's love.

Base are these local limits to men's hearts,
That canton out humanity , in parts .
Truth has no districts , to divide her toil ;
And virtue is at home , in every soil .
Since, on one common globe, we neigh'bring , dwell,
What narrower line shou'd man , from man expel .
Each, born alike , and sons of nature , all,
Human can ne'er, from care of human , fall.

B UT passion's rapine, nature's union breaks ,
Not soil , but int'rest , all this difference makes:
Born brothers , each, from each, wou'd something draw,
Till ravag'd equity is shrunk to law:
Blindly forgetful , that the whole is dust ,
We hate , for parts , nor feel ourselves unjust:
Confine repute, to place ; and praise , or rail ,
As self , or stranger , turns the varied scale:
Till, sense grown harden'd , in her partial plea,
Justice is crippled, into bribery .

Thou ! — son of liberty! — can'st shun this shelf ;
Loos'ning reflection , and out-launching self:
Can'st burst the chain of custom , round the heart,
And, from worst slavery — (that of reason ) — start.
Thou , on thy country's hills , can'st praise bestow,
Yet stoop not the Encomium , to her snow!
So, wants, confess'd , but strengthen merit's claim,
And right , from wrong distinguish'd, fixes fame.

W HEN rock-fenc'd Scotland boasts her hardy race ,
Or English beauty claims but matchless grace ;
When France the praise of sprightliest wit assumes,
And German plainness spreads its honest plumes ;
Concurring plaudits grant unquestion'd dues ,
And truth and reason sanctify the muse .

B UT , shou'd Teutonic heaviness aspire,
From French vivacity , to ravish fire ;
Or Caledonia's manlike virgins vie ,
With the soft sunshine of an English eye ,
Justice wou'd blush , at nature 's erring pride ,
And each forc'd trophy be, by truth, deny'd .

M ORE just thy mind, more gen'rous is thy muse!
Albanian born, this English theme to chuse!
No partial flattery need thy verse invade ,
That, in the ear of Scotland , sounds a W ADE !

S UCH , as thy Muse , such is thy Patron's aim ;
Nor North , nor South , can bound his spirit's claim .
Warm'd from within , he burns with Roman fires,
Shines for the W ORLD : and, for M ANKIND , aspires ,
Adorning power , he beautifies a state ;
Endears dominion , and absolves the great .
Kind , by his care, rapacious license grows;
And polish'd jealousy no hatred knows:
Felt in their hearts , to love of faith he charms,
And, softly conqu'ring , needs no aid of arms .

W HEN (ages hence) his last line's length ner dies ,
And his lost dust reveals not, where it lies:
Still, shall his living greatness , guard his name ,
And his works lift him, to immortal fame .
Then , shall astonish'd armies , marching high,
O'er causeway'd mountains , that invade the sky ,
Climb the rais'd arch , that sweeps its distant throw,
Cross tumbling floods , which roar, unheard , below:
Gaze, from the Cliff's cut edge , thro' midway air ,
And, trembling, wonder at their safety, there!
Pierce, fenny deeps , with firm, unsinking tread,
And, o'er drain'd desarts , wholesome empire spread.

W HILE charm'd the soldier dwells , on wonders pass'd ,
Some Chief , more knowing , and more touch'd — at last,
Shall ( pointing ) to the attentive files , explain,
How (many a cent'ry since) — in G EORGE'S R EIGN ,
W ADE'S working soul , that grac'd his Prince's throne,
Built these vast Monuments — and spar'd his own.