Classic Poem

Nor let Arabia boast her thousand songs,
And thousand bards illum'd by ray divine:
To us celestial melody belongs,
To us indulgent are the sacred nine.
Pope, Parnel, Dryden, oft have sweetly sung,
Oft warm'd the heart, and drawn the melting tear;
The wood-crown'd hill, and valley oft have rung,
Angelic legions oft have stoop'd to hear.
Behold a bard from Liffy's echoing shore,
To him her choicest gifts the muse imparts,
Gives the deep lyre, gives fancy's richest ore,
The tend'rest verse, and satire's keenest darts;
Whether he sings of Twiss and Murcia's maid,
Or sooths with melting airs his Clara's shade.