Classic Poem

While laureates sing the splendid monarch's name,
Be humble worth the measure of my theme.
No manners blazon'd by the gloss of art,
(Pure flow the dictates of an honest heart)
Shone thro' his life, just, open and sincere,
From life's first blossom, to the dusky bier.
Pleas'd with each sport the checker'd fields display,
In rural pastimes fled his hours away.
Unanxious he to grasp at public fame,
The sportive pleasures were his chiefest aim.
Jocund he smil'd to see his friends appear,
His heart according with the festive cheer.
No weary stranger pass'd his latchless door,
Which beck'd the stranger, and the needy poor,
Alike to him the humble, as the great,
All found a welcome, and a kind retreat.
Tho' no wrought urn his social worth imparts,
You'll find it graven on a thousand hearts.