Classic Poem

BY Maria F ALCONAR .

T ELL me what bold, what enterprising, hand
For thee, O nymph, shall wake the golden lyre;
Hail, guardian genius of Britannia's land!
Spirit of Milton, thou my verse inspire!

Ah! what avails the wealth that India yields,
Where summer suns perpetual warmth bestow?
Her mines of glitt'ring gems and spicy fields,
While her sad sons expire in servile woe!

For thee, sweet nymph, the tenants of the grove
Endure the perils of the wintry sky;
O'er the bleak hills, they, solitary, rove,
They live for Freedom, and with Freedom die.