Classic Poem

TO THE EARL OF HARTFORD,

AND THE REST OF THE

MEMBERS OF THE SOCIETY OF BRITISH ANTIQUARIES.

T O Hartford, and his learned friends,
Whase fame for science far extends,
A Scotish muse her duty sends,
From Pictish towers:
Health, length of days, and happy ends,
Be ever yours.

Your gen'rous cares make light arise
From things obscure to vulgar eyes,
Finding where hidden knowledge lies,
T' improve the mind;
And most delightfully surprise,
With thoughts refin'd.

When you the broke inscription read,
Or amongst antique ruins tread,
And view remains of princes dead,
In funeral piles,
Your penetration seems decreed
To bless these isles.

Where Romans form'd their camps of old,
The gods and urns of curious mould,
Their medals struck of brass or gold,
'Tis you can show,
And truth of what 's in story told,
To you we owe.

How beneficial is the care
That brightens up the classic lear!
When you the documents compare
With authors old,
You ravish, when we can so fair
Your light behold.

Without your comments, each old book
By all the world would be forsook:
For who of thought would deign to look
On doubtful works,
Till by your skilful hands they 're struck
With sterling marks?

By this your learning men are fir'd,
With love of glory, and inspir'd,
Like ancient heroes, who ne'er tir'd
To win a name;
And, by their godlike acts, aspir'd
T' immortal fame.

Your useful labours shall endure,
True merit shall your fame secure,
And will posterity allure
To search about
For truth, by demonstration sure,
Which leaves no doubt.

The muse foresees brave Hartford's name
Shall to all writers be a theme,
To last while arts and greatness claim
Th' historian's skill,
Or the chief instrument of fame,
The poet's quill.

Pembroke 's a name to Britain dear
For learning and brave deeds of weir;
The genius still continues clear
In him whose art
In your rare fellowship can bear
So great a part.

Bards yet unborn shall tune their lays,
And monuments harmonious raise,
To Winchelsea and Devon's praise,
Whose high desert,
And virtues bright, like genial rays,
Can life impart.

Nor want we Caledonians sage,
Who read the painted vellum page,
No strangers to each antique stage,
And Druids' cells;
And sacred ruins of each age,
On plains and fells.

Amongst all those of the first rate,
Our learned Clerk, blest with the fate
Of thinking right, can best relate
These beauties all,
Which bear the marks of ancient date,
Be-north the wall:

The wall which Hadrian first begun,
And bold Severus carried on,
From rising to the setting sun,
On Britain's coast,
Our ancestors' fierce arms to shun,
Which gall'd them most.

But now no need of walls or towers,
Ag'd enmity no more endures,
Brave Britain joins her warlike powers,
That always dare
To open and to shut the doors
Of peace and war.

Advance, great men, your wise design,
And prosper in the task divine;
Draw from antiquity's deep mine
The precious ore,
And in the British annals shine
Till time's no more.