Classic Poem

From Bactria's vales, where beauty blows
Luxuriant in the genial ray;
Where flowers a bolder gem disclose,
And deeper drink the golden day:

From Bactria's vales to Britain's shore
What time the Crown Imperial came,
Full high the stately stranger bore
The honours of his birth and name.

In all the pomp of eastern state,
In all the eastern glory gay,
He bade, with native pride elate,
Each flower of humbler birth obey.

O, that the child unborn might hear,
Nor hold it strange in distant time,
That freedom e'en to flowers was dear,
To flowers that bloom'd in Britain's clime!

Through purple meads, and spicy gales,
Where Strymon's silver waters play,
While far from hence their goddess dwells,
She rules with delegated sway.

That sway the Crown Imperial sought,
With high demand and haughty mien:
But equal claim a rival brought,
A rival call'd the Meadow's Queen.

‘In climes of orient glory born,
Where beauty first and empire grew;
Where first unfolds the golden morn,
Where richer falls the fragrant dew:

‘In light's ethereal beauty drest,
Behold, (he cried) the favour'd flower,
Which Flora's high commands invest
With ensigns of imperial power!

‘Where prostrate vales, and blushing meads,
And bending mountains own his sway,
While Persia's lord his empire leads,
And bids the trembling world obey,

‘While blood bedews the straining bow,
And conquest rends the scatter'd air,
'Tis mine to bind the victor's brow,
And reign in envied glory there.

‘Then lowly bow, ye British flowers!
Confess your monarch's mighty sway,
And own the only glory yours,
When fear flies trembling to obey.’

He said, and sudden o'er the plain,
From flower to flower a murmur ran,
With modest air, and milder strain,
When thus the Meadow's Queen began:

‘If vain of birth, of glory vain,
Or fond to bear a regal name,
The pride of folly brings disdain,
And bids me urge a tyrant's claim:

‘If war my peaceful realms assail,
And then, unmov'd by Pity's call,
I smile to see the bleeding vale,
Or feel one joy in Nature's fall,

‘Then may each justly vengeful flower
Pursue her Queen with generous strife,
Nor leave the hand of lawless power
Such compass on the scale of life.

‘One simple virtue all my pride!
The wish that flies to misery's aid;
The balm that stops the crimson tide,
And heals the wounds that war has made.’

Their free consent by zephyrs borne,
The flowers their Meadow's Queen obey;
And fairer blushes crown'd the morn,
And sweeter fragrance fill'd the day.