To General Paoli

I COME , great Chief, no tributary Muse
To Public Spirit's unavailing nerve,
Though Piety and Valour still deserve
Posterity's fair chaplet, who renews
Departed worth — redeems it — and reviews
Impartial — with an eye that cannot swerve,
The deathless Patriot. — But the Nine , who serve
At Memory's illumin'd altar, chuse
An early song for thee — a living praise,
Unenvy'd as unquestion'd, in the scene
That's ever on the wing — nor claims of Time
The wreath or trophy, nor the solar blaze
Of public honour; by the world unseen,
Presents a character that's more sublime.
They catch it ere it falls into the dust,
Embalm the good , and consecrate the just .
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