Classic Poem

Send to the Muse, and each enliv'ning art,
Which cheers repose, and soothes the drooping heart,
Which softens friendship, which appeases strife,
And scatters roses o'er the path of life! —
Like from her grateful hand, ('tis sure thy claim)
As humble flow'r to deck thy wreath of fame,

That glowing wreath, which Justice must allow,
More bright than diamonds on the soldier's brow.
'Tis hardly earn'd! — The fight, the foaming deep,
And Afric's sands, which roll their burning heap,
The savage shore, and India's sultry glow,
Contribute all to make his laurels grow!
Whilst heav'nly Mercy lends her gentle aid,
And decks them with a leaf which ne'er can fade.

Sweet is Repose! — And to the Patriot's eye,
How pure, how richly glows his native sky;
When ev'ry toil is past, and Danger's hour
Enriches Comfort in her peaceful bow'r!
And gives delicious luxury, rarely felt,
Where Peace and languid Safety long have dwelt
Snatch'd from the boist'rous wave, the murd'rous crew,
The warrior's bosom wakes to life anew:

Sprung from the grasp of Death, escap'd each dart,
He yields to gen'rous Hope his bounding heart;
And ev'n the pebble on his native shore,
Shines with a lustre unperceiv'd before:
Ev'n the poor pebble shall importance gain,
And India's gems shall emulate in vain.

'Tis thine, oh H — — s, thy toils and dangers past,
To taste the sweets of calm repose at last!
Form'd as thou art, to share the social scene,
And spread fair Friendship, with her smile serene.
May gentle Peace, with all her charms divine,
The choice of sage Experience now be thine —
Glory and Toil have long thy hours possess'd,
To Friendship, Truth, and Genius, give the rest.