Classic Poem

Whether, in high and priestly strains, he sings
Of the first pair the sad and early fall,
In virtue of his mission through the All
Soaring on Poesy's gigantic wings,—
Whether, a champion stout and true, he brings
His mighty aid where Right and Freedom call,—
Or whether civil discord's bitter brawl
E'en through his noble soul, confusing, rings,—
In every phase let Milton's glory swell
Thy grateful praises, for he proves so well
How civic zeal and loftiest mind agree.
A bard,—he loves the bright and quickening day,
Yet cheerfully resigns the blessed ray
To give his brethren light and liberty.