Classic Poem

Drumgold! whose ancestors from Albion's shore
Their conq'ring standards to Hibernia bore,
Tho' now thy valour to thy country lost
Shines in the foremost ranks of Gallia's host,
Think not that France shall borrow all thy fame—
From British sires deriv'd thy genius came;
Its force its energy to these it ow'd,
But the fair polish Gallia's clime bestow'd;
The Graces there each ruder thought refin'd,
And liveliest wit with soundest sense combin'd;
They taught in sportive Fancy's gay attire
To dress the gravest of th' Aonian choir,
And gave to sober Wisdom's wrinkled cheek
The smile that dwells in Hebe's dimple sleek.
Pay to each realm the debt that each may ask:
Be thine and thine alone the pleasing task
In purest elegance of Gallick phrase
To clothe the spirit of the British lays.
Thus ev'ry flow'r which ev'ry Muse's hand
Has rais'd profuse in Britain's fav'rite land
By thee transplanted to the banks of Seine
Its sweetest native odours shall retain;
And when thy noble friend, with olive crown'd,
In Concord's golden chain has firmly bound
The rival nations, thou for both shalt raise
The grateful song to his immortal praise.
Albion shall think she hears her Prior sing,
And France that Boileau strikes the tuneful string:
Then shalt thou tell what various talents join'd
Adorn, embellish, and exalt his mind;
Learning and wit with sweet politeness grac'd,
Wisdom by guile or cunning undebas'd,
By pride unfully'd genuine dignity,
A noble and sublime simplicity.
Such in thy verse shall Nivernois be shown;
France shall with joy the fair resemblance own,
And Albion sighing bid her sons aspire
To imitate the merit they admire.