Classic Poem

VII.

Thine, Greece! the muse's highest praise,
Thou parent of immortal lays!
Thine were the whole Aonian quire,
Thee all the sacred Nine inspire.
There boldly Pindar sweeps the strings;
Anacreon softly, sweetly, sings;
And Homer, in whose ev'ry line
Breathe more than mortal force, and harmony divine.

VIII.

Long did the Grecian glory last,
But with the course of empire past.
Greece, subject to the Roman sway,
Taught Rome to imitate her lay.
Subdued by war, by milder arts
She tam'd the savage victors hearts:
The Romans, masters of the field,
To Greece, the nobler palm of genius, learning yield.

IX.

From Greece to Rome at once the flame
In all its blaze of glory came,
Rome, with the dazzling lustre fir'd,
Contented copied, and admir'd.
Horace imbib'd the sacred fire
And spirit of the Grecian lyre:
The daring track of Homer's muse,
With no unequal pace the Mantuan bard pursues.

X.

But, liberty and virtue lost,
The muse forsook the Latian coast:
To Albion next she bent her way,
And tun'd her voice to freedom's lay.
There Shakespeare copied nature's hue,
And passion's lively colouring drew;
And Milton in an angel's tongue,
In inspiration rapt, themes worthy angels sung.

XI.

From Grecian fountains flow along
The thousand mazy rills of song:
These must each bard approach with awe,
And thence with sacred rapture draw.
Maeonides, by all confest,
Of poets, as the first, the best,
All, who'd excel, must copy still,
Must climb Parnassus' height, and drink Castalia's rill.

XII.

To you, my friend! these lays belong,
The guide and patron of my song:
You first unfolded to my eye
The Grecian stores, and bade me try,
If I desir'd a poet's praise
To imitate their matchless lays.
No rival I; — — enough I claim,
Their beauties to admire, and celebrate their fame.