Classic Poem

YE Bards who erst, in Mona's shadowy isle,
With harmony celestial wrapt the soul;
Whose sounds symphonious taught e'en Care to smile,
And ev'ry ruder passion could controul:

Bless'd be your friendly aid, for that alone
Could Parry 's artless hand with skill inspire;
His fancy swell to raise the rapt'rous tone,
His flying fingers guide to skim the lyre.

To you, ye Bards, seraphic sounds were giv'n,
That soothing rais'd and charm'd the soul to peace;
Delightful foretaste of a future heav'n,
Where harmony divine shall never cease.

Still o'er your much-lov'd Cambria, still preside,
Seat once of flowing verse, of magic song;
Your mighty shades the feeblest hand can guide,
And bid their silent harps again be strung.

Your potent aid can fan their dying fire,
Can call back Genius to each desart grove;
Your sons will rouse when you their Bards inspire,
Elate, their mighty origin to prove.