Classic Poem

My Country! worthy of triumphal fame.
Mother of many a chief,
Above thy very sister thou mayest claim
Preeminence in grief;
And even he who honored most thy name,
Hearing how base, and vile, and like a thief,
Thy deeds have grown, blushes with rage and shame.
Alas! how oft thy wicked sons endeavor
To band themselves together for thy death;
False lights for true, to eyes distorted ever,
Shewing thy mob, who change with every breath.
Raise up thy fallen of heart! — Kindle their blood! —
Smite traitors with the sword of Justice keen! —
So shall thy grace and thy return to good,
Making that praise, which was reproach, be seen.

In good old times how happy was thy fate;
Thy breast with honor glowed;
The virtues then were pillars of thy state;
For thee the founts of health and glory flowed;
Pure Faith was at thy gate,
And the Seven Virgins all with thee abode.
Thy spotless robe, now tattered and defiled,
Is changed for filthy rags of vice and woe,
Fabricius and the loyal are exiled,
And vile yet proud thou art — of Peace the foe!
Shame on thee! Faction's mirror! — Mars' ally —
To Antenora thou woulds't send the true
Who from thy stained and widowed lily fly,
Because by thee and thy degenerate crew
Who loves thee best, is the first doomed to die.

Serene and glorious, with kind influence blest
By every star in Heaven,
Thus acting, honored shalt thou reign and rest,
Thy name of Flowery — now a bitter jest —
Then seeming fitly given.
Soon as affection consecrates thy worth,
Happy the soul that owes to thee his days;
For thine thenceforth shall be all power and praise —
A model thou for Earth.
But if thou change not those that rule thy state,
Worse storms with fatal death may yet be thine
And then, bewailing thine all-evil fate
Mid grief and lamentation, shalt thou pine.
Choose freely now, — fraternal peace again,
Or wolf and wolf-like ever to remain.

Root out the evil weeds that waste thy soil!
No pity shew to those
Who make thy noble flower a filthy spoil;
And let the Virtues triumph o'er their foes,
Until Fidelity rewards thy toil
And Justice, sword in hand guards thy repose.
Mark well the beacon-lights Justinian gave.
Correcting thine unjust and fiery laws
With wisdom high and grave —
Securing thus, from Earth and Heaven applause.
To honors then, and power and riches call
The sons who love thee well:
Nor let thy gifts on the unworthy fall
So Prudence and the Seven Sisters all
In harmony with thee once more shall dwell.

Go forth my Song! thy bold demeanor keep;
Love is thy guide.
Enter my native land whose state I weep,
Some good men there abide
Whose light shines not — they and their virtues deep
Down-trodden in the mire or thrust aside.
Cry out arise! for you my trump I sound —
To arms! to arms! raise up your abject state,
Which scarcely breathes of late —
By Crassus, Capaneus, the false Greek —
And Magus and Aglaura, spoiled and bound,
While Pharaoh and Jugurtha vengeance wreak
And blind Mahomet fiercely raves around.
Turn to her just! — So may they hear thy prayer —
And She Imperial honors ever wear!