Classic Poem

Genius of Britain! whose congenial smile,
From infant time, with freedom bless'd this Isle;
Dart thy enliv'ning fire, thy pow'r proclaim,
Awake thy slumb'ring sons to deeds of fame:
Though at luxurious Pleasure's sensual shrine
They bow obedient, and on vice refine;
Though Dissipation's varying scenes can sway,
And from themselves thy Britons steal away;
Yet shall thy sacred voice the charm dissolve,
Call forth the latent spark, the firm resolve;
Shall, like an angel's trump, each heart alarm,
And with aethereal fire each bosom warm;
Shall to their brighten'd sense bid fair appear
The re-trac'd glories of each conqu'ring year;
Shew victor Edward in his sable shield,
And Agincourt's well-earn'd immortal field;
Where, by the delegated aid of Heav'n,
Whose awful mandate to thy charge was giv'n,
Thou, for the valiant Harry's votive band,
Brandish'd the guardian-glories of thy hand;
While Gaul's perfidious sons, in proud array,
With trebled numbers, wond'ring, lost the day:
Haste from thy pearly grots, thy coral caves,
Whose margents green obsequious Neptune laves;
He ardent waits thy dread behests to hear,
And waft to hostile shores thy bolts of war;
He longs to view thy naval bulwarks ride,
And grace, in martial pomp, his swelling tide;
He pants to see thy hardy sons display
Unrivall'd colours o'er his wat'ry way.