Classic Poem

Begone unleason'd, mirthful muse begone
 And come MELPOMENE, assist my strain;
That tears can draw from savage breasted-stone,
 To sing the brother, (darling brother) slain.

How oft victorious from the wars he came,
 To mind let Gauls ignoble sons recall;
And the time-taking, subtle Spaniard, name,
 Or the wild Carrib, for he battled all.
Thrice seventimes round has Phœbus' car been driv'n,
 Since first he shone array'd in armuor bright;
Two hundred times and seventy three, i'th heaven
 Has fill'd, and wan'd, the sober queen of night.

Now ah! no more pleas'd victor to return!
 Slain by a lawless, ill advised, crew;
Lament ye warriors o'er the soldier's urn,
 For such a loss, excess of griefs' your due.

And see! methinks! on yonder fanguin'd plain,
 WOES pointing out the partner of his life;
Who cross'd th' Atlantic (bad condition'd main)
 The vent'rous Heroine, and the virtuous Wife.

But lovely, mournful, widow'd sister, peace;
 O! give thyself not wholly o'er to grief!
Stifle the sigh, and bid the tear surcease,
 Still Britian's isle is gracious in relief.