Classic Poem

Muse! thy thrilling numbers dart
Thro his ear, and thro his heart:
Chide the youth who holds his stay,
Far from Freedom's band away.

Hanging woods and fairy streams,
Inspirers of poetic dreams,
Must not now the soul enthrall,
While dungeons burst, and despots fall.

Shall peals of village bells prevail
Floating on the Summer gale,
While the Tocsin sounds afar,
Breathing arms, and glorious War?

Think, when woods of brownest shades
Open bright to sunny glades;
Such the gloom, and such the light,
Of Freedom's noon, and Slavery's night.

Harps of Mona! sound once more,
With strong vibrations shake the shore,
Ne'er did your solemn chords relate,
Eventful scenes so big with fate.

Now stretched at hoary Snowden's base,
Hide in shades thy long disgrace,
And blush that Freedom's child should be,
Far from Freedom's jubilee.