Classic Poem

BY THE SIBYL OF THE POPLARS .

T HE Sword , protector of heroic fame,
Shall rouse the ear supine with Hardinge's name;
Shall guard from Time's obliterating dust,
And that dread shelf where sacred honours rust;
Shall speed the ship where modest Hope is bound,
Till, for the latent wish, more guns are found:
Then Glory's brightest flag shall fix the sight,
And crown Ambition with — its blue or white:
Annals remote the splendid gift shall trace,
Nor find a blot that shall its fame disgrace;
Compell'd by Duty, it shall boldly dare;
Compell'd by Mercy, it shall nobly spare .
Attemper'd thus, it dignifies the side,
And makes the Hero's boast — an honest pride , —
Attemper'd thus, will shine in Hardinge's hand,
Since his the power to give it this command.