Classic Poem

To -Night the noblest Subject swells our Scene,
A Heroine, a Martyr, and a Queen;
And tho' the Poet dares not boast his Art,
The very Theme shall some great thing impart,
To warm the gen'rous Soul, and touch the tender Hear
To you, fair Judges, we the Cause submit;
Your Eyes shall tell us how the Tale is writ.
If your soft Pity waits upon our Woe,
If silent Tears for suff'ring Virtue flow;
Your Grief the Muses Labor shall confess,
The lively Passions, and the just Distress.
Oh! cou'd our Author's Pencil justly paint,
Such as she was in Life, the beauteous Saint;
Boldly your strict Attention might we claim,
And bid you mark, and copy out the Dame.
No wandring Glance one wanton Thought confess'd,
No guilty Wish inflam'd her spotless Breast:
The only Love that warm'd her blooming Youth,
Was Husband , England, Liberty, and Truth
For these she fell; while, with too weak a Hand,
She strove to save a blind ungrateful Land.
But thus the secret Laws of Fate ordain,
W ILLIAM ' s Great Hand was doom'd to break that Chain ,
And end the Hopes of Rome' s tyrannic Reign ,
For ever as the circling Years return,
Ye grateful Britons! crown the Hero's Urn