Classic Poem

Whilst Eastern wives connubial trophies raise,
By mounting dauntless on the funeral blaze;
Or tragic bards Euphresia's worth relate,
Her father rescu'd, and the tyrant's fate;
Domestic scenes your infant muse inspire,
And glowing nature trembles on your lyre.
No labour'd groves wave in your artless verse,
Or fancy'd joys your flowing lines rehearse.

If less than Auburn is your happy ville,
This all my view, that owns the poet's skill;
If Primrose glow'd with ev'ry virtue fraught,
Here Herbert is what Goldsmith's fancy wrought;
Who to your gambols can his portion lend,
And sink the father in the cheerful friend;
Whilst each contends to catch his honest smile
And jokes alternate ling'ring time beguile.
How tranquil then must pass your youthful days;
Where all combine to frolic, and to please.

Nor fear in age neglect's afflictive thorn,
Beneath the guidance of a mother born,
Whose only aim to this bright centre tends,
To shape your morals to the wisest ends;
To check ambition in the rising tide,
And blend submission, with becoming pride.
Your taste refin'd requites her early care,
And Shentone's shade avows you as his heir.

As home-felt joys first bade your numbers flow,
With such like joys may your kind bosom glow!
May some fond child resume the mother's lyre,
To sing the pleasures of the Social Fire.