Classic Poem

A muse expiring, who, with earliest voice,
Made kings, and queens, and beauty's charms, her choice,
Now on her deathbed this last homage pays,
O Queen! to thee: accept her dying lays.
So at th' approach of death the cygnet tries
To warble one note more—and singing dies.
“Hail, mighty Queen! whose pow'rful smile alone
“Commands obedience, and secures the throne.
“Contending parties and plebeian rage
“Had puzzled loyalty for half an age;
“Conquering our hearts, you end the long dispute;
“All who have eyes confess you absolute:
“To Tory doctrines even Whigs resign,
“And in your person own a right divine.”
Thus sang the Muse, in her last moments fir'd
With Carolina's praise—and then expir'd.