Classic Poem

RECITATIVE .

W HILE Gallia's chief, with cruel conquests vain,
Bids clanging trumpets rend the skies,
The widow's, orphan's, and the father's sighs,
Breathe, hissing through the guilty strain;
Mild Pity hears the harrowing tones,
Mixt with shrieks and dying groans;
While warm humanity, afar,
Weeps o'er the ravages of war,
And shudd'ring hears Ambition's servile train,
Rejoicing o'er their thousands slain.
But when the song to worth is given,
The grateful anthem wings its way to heaven;
Rings through the mansions of the bright abodes,
And melts to ecstasy the list'ning gods;
Apollo, on fire,
Strikes with rapture the lyre,
And the Muses the summons obey;
Joy wings the glad sound,
To the worlds around,
Till all nature re-echoes the lay. —
Then raise the song, ye vocal few,
Give the praise to merit due.