Classic Poem

Turn trav'ller! to the neighb'ring hill,
And view A CASIO'S look—
Like some majestic ruin still,
Which many a storm has shook.

Dost not thou see, tho' care and time
Have mark'd his furrow'd brow,
Dost not thou see a ray sublime
Illumes his aspect now?

Such grandeur still such awful grace
The conscious eye may view,
If pity mourns his feeble pace,
Respect must mingle too!

“My son!—my darling son (he cries)
“Restor'd from scenes of horror!
“Then, Heaven be prais'd! a father's eyes,
“May see his form tomorrow.

“My son, my long lost son is come,
“An humble feast shall greet him!
“And rich will seem my rustic home,
“When ev'ry friend shall meet him.

“Oh ye! who smile on Britain's shore,
“To murd'rous fears a stranger,
“Ye know not well the cannon's roar—
“Nor half the soldier's danger!

“Ye rural peasants wildly gay
“Refresh'd with balmy slumbers,
“Ye know not, while at rest ye lay—
“The mis'ry felt by numbers!

“Ye know not—what a father knew,
“To tender ties a stranger,
“When wildly from my cot he flew
“To face the frowns of danger.

“In sultry climes, my boy—he fought
“In many a scene of terror,
“I knew him brave—and tender thought
“Forgave his youthful error.

More fierce than ev'n the battle's shock,
“His prime the desart wasted,
“The gale on dire Gibraltar's rock—
“Of death tremendous tasted!

“Tho' Egypt with its fatal breeze,
“His fearless sight extinguish'd;
“Kind mercy check'd the stern disease,
“And brought him home distinguish'd.

“And mercy now my praise receives—
“An old man's heart retiring,
“Still feels the ray its lustre gives,
“Our solemn day expiring!

“He comes!—tho' angry war may rave
“Whate'er its fierce condition,
“There's not a ball can pierce the brave,
“'Till Heaven shall give commission.

“'Tis sweet to hear my son's renown,
“To hear his gallant story!—
“But sweeter, if the christian's crown
“Shall end his mortal glory!”