Classic Poem

Let crowned heads their laureats boast
Their venal bards of mighty Cost
Who annual peans Sing
I come in friendships humble dress
The wish of thousands to express
And free will offerings bring—
The muse shall tune the vocal shell
Shall every plaintive note expell
And breathe her sweetest strain—
Her chearful notes shall swell the gale
Repeat the Joy to every vale
That in our bosoms reign.—
That time with softest wing descends
That Stanhope lives to bless his friends
And this his natal day.—
Each year progressive virtue charms
Benevolence and kindness warms
And prompts the grateful lay
Is any sick his presence chears—
The balm of health attend his prayers—
And anguish hides her head—
Does sorrow fade the rosy cheek—
The voice of Comfort he can speak—
And smooth the dying bed.—
Now lend your aid you social powers—
While I describe the attic hours—
The happy few enjoy—
When round his chearful fireside—
Philosophy and ease preside—
And wit without alloy.—
There elegance and taste combin'd—
Furnish a feast of sense refin'd—
Fit only for the soul
We hear with pleasure and surprize—
In other climes what wonders rise—
While fast the moments roll.—
The little cherubs in their place—
Arrayd in innocence and grace—
Revive their parents bloom—
The father sooths each tender plaint—
While free from every harsh restraint—
They skip about the room.—
Fly on bright hours nor ever know—
The change that from affliction flow—
But dip your wings in Joy—
And on them bear this natal day—
Hail'd by the gratulating lay—
In strains which cannot cloy.—