Classic Poem

What man, what hero shall the Muses sing,
On classic lyre or Caledonian string?
Whose name shall fill th' immortal page?
Who, fir'd from heav'n with energy divine,
In sun-bright glory bids his actions shine
First in the annals of the age?
Ceas'd are the golden times of yore;
The age of heroes is no more;
Rare, in these latter times, arise to fame
The poet's strain inspir'd, or hero's heav'nly flame.

What star arising in the southern sky,
New to the heav'ns, attracting Europe's eye,
With beams unborrow'd shines afar?
Who comes, with thousands marching in his rear,
Shining in arms, shaking his bloody spear,
Like the red comet, sign of war?
Paoli! sent of Heav'n, to save
A rising nation of the brave;
Whose firm right hand his angels arm, to bear
A shield before his host, and dart the bolts of war.

He comes! he comes! the saviour of the land!
His drawn sword flames in his uplifted hand,
Enthusiast in his country's cause;
Whose firm resolve obeys a nation's call,
To rise deliverer, or a martyr fall
To Liberty, to dying laws.
Ye sons of Freedom! sing his praise;
Ye poets! bind his brows with bays;
Ye sceptr'd shadows! cast your honours down,
And bow before the head that never wore a crown.

Who to the hero can the palm refuse?
Great Alexander still the world subdues,
The heir of everlasting praise.
But when the hero's flame, the patriot's light;
When virtues human and divine unite;
When olives twine among the bays,
And, mutual, both Minervas shine;
A constellation so divine,
A wond'ring world behold, admire, and love.
And his best image here, th' Almighty marks above.

As the lone shepherd hides him in the rocks,
When high heav'n thunders; as the tim'rous flocks
From the descending torrent flee:
So flies a world of Slaves at War's alarms,
When Zeal on flame, and Liberty in arms,
Leads on the fearless and the free,
Resistless; as the torrent flood,
Horn'd like the moon, uproots the wood,
Sweeps flocks, and herds, and harvests from their base,
And moves th' eternal hills from their appointed place.

Long hast thou labour'd in the glorious strife,
O land of Liberty! profuse of life,
And prodigal of priceless blood.
Where heroes bought with blood the martyr's crown,
A race arose, heirs of their high renown,
Who dar'd their fate thro' fire and flood:
And Gaffori the great arose,
Whose words of pow'r disarm'd his foes;
And where the filial image smil'd afar,
The sire turned not aside the thunders of the war.

O Liberty! to man a guardian giv'n,
Thou best and brightest attribute of Heav'n!
From whom descending, thee we sing.
By nature wild, or by the arts refin'd,
We feel thy pow'r essential to our mind;
Each son of Freedom is a king.
Thy praise the happy world proclaim,
And Britain worships at thy name,
Thou guardian angel of Britannia's isle!
And God and man rejoice in thy immortal smile!

Island of beauty! lift thy head on high;
Sing a new son of triumph to the sky!
The day of thy deliv'rance springs!
The day of vengeance to thy ancient foe.
Thy sons shall lay the proud oppressor low,
And break the head of tyrant kings.
Paoli! mighty man of war!
All bright in arms, thy conqu'ring car
Ascend; thy people from the foe redeem,
Thou delegate of Heav'n, and son of the Supreme!

Ruled by th' eternal laws, supreme o'er all,
Kingdoms, like kings, successive rise and fall.
When Cæsar conquer'd half the earth,
And spread his eagles in Britannia's sun,
Did Cæsar dream the savage huts he won
Should give a far-famed kingdom birth?
That here should Roman freedom 'light;
The western Muses wing their flight;
The Arts, the Graces find their fav'rite home;
Our armies awe the globe, and Britain rival Rome?

Thus, if th' Almighty say, “Let Freedom be,”
Thou Corsica! thy golden age shalt see.
Rejoice with songs, rejoice with smiles;
Worlds yet unfound, and ages yet unborn,
Shall hail a new Britannia in her morn,
The Queen of arts, the Queen of isles:
The Arts, the beauteous train of Peace,
Shall rise and rival Rome and Greece;
A Newton Nature's book unfold sublime;
A Milton sing to Heav'n, and charm the ear of Time!