Classic Poem

Sway'd by the vulgar Tide, (forgive the Wrong)
I thought before I heard your pow'rful Song,
In noisy War the Muses Voice was Mute,
Nor hop'd to find the Trumpet near the Lute .
But now I see, from thy melodious Lays,
The Laurel well may mingle with the Bays ;
The Warriour's Oak may tremble on the Crest ,
And yet the Lover's Myrtle shade the Breast .

Minerva thus in Homer 's Camp is seen;
How the Maid threatens with a Warlike Mien;
Now in soft Words perswades the giddy Throng,
And melts in Musick on Ulysses 's Tongue.
So on the Bosom of the Thames unite
The Fruits of gentle Peace , and Pomp of Fight .
Here breathe the Spicy Gums from India 's Shores,
In Thunder there the Royal Navy Roars.

May Britain never want such Sons as you,
To Fight her Battels, and Record them too.
Tyrtæus so led Sparta 's Soldiers on,
Then sung the Trophies which himself had won.
Be this thy Double Praise; While we commend
The Wars you Write, the Freedom you Defend.