Classic Poem

Bring now ye Muses from th' Aonian grove,
The wreath of victory which the sisters wove,
Wove and laid up in Mars' most awful fane,
To crown our Hero on Virginia's plain.
See! from Castalia's sacred fount they haste,
And now, already, on his brow 'tis plac'd;
The trump of fame proclaims aloud the joy,
AND WASHINGTON IS CROWN'D, re-echo's to the sky.
Illustrious name! thy valour now has broke
Oppression's galling chain, and took the yoke
From off thy bleeding country, set her free,
And every heart with transport beats for thee.
For thee! Rochambeau, Gallia's vet'ran chief,
Sent by fair Freedom's friend to her relief;
An arch triumphal shall the Muse decree
And heroes yet unborn shall copy thee;
Our lisping infants shall pronounce thy name,
In songs our virgins shall repeat thy fame,
And taught by THEE the art of war, our swains
Shall dye with British blood Columbia's plains.
Viominills, (heroic brothers) too!
Unfading laurels now await for you,
And all the noble youth, who in your train,
In search of glory cross'd the Atlantic main.
Blest with sweet peace in Sylvan shades retir'd,
Our future bards (by your great deeds inspir'd)
In tuneful verse shall hand this aera down,
And your lov'd names with greatful honours crown.