Classic Poem

In gayer hours, when high my fancy ran,
The muse, exulting, thus her lay began.
Blessed be the Bastard's birth! through wond'rous ways,
He shines eccentric like a comet's blaze.
No sickly fruit of faint compliance he;
He! stamped in nature's mint of ecstasy!
He lives to build, not boast, a gen'rous race,
No tenth transmitter of a foolish face.
His daring hope no sire's example bounds;
His firstborn lights no prejudice confounds.
He, kindling from within, requires no flame;
He glories in a Bastard's glowing name.
Born to himself, and no possession led,
In freedom fostered, and by fortune fed,
Nor guides, nor rules, his sov'reign choice control,
His body independent, as his soul
Loosed to the world's wide range--enjoined no aim,
Prescribed no duty, and assigned no name,
Nature's unbounded son, he stands alone,
His heart unbiassed, and his mind his own.