Classic Poem

Minerva in heaven disconsolate mourn'd
The loss of her Cook, who Britain adorn'd;
She shun'd the celestials, and solitude fought,
There wept as she glanc'd o'er the actions he'd wrought.

Surpriz'd at his deeds, she fat pensive, amaz'd,
When sudden her eyes to a volume were rais'd;
'Twas Fate's mighty mirror, the goddess desery'd,
Where glory he'd gain'd, on the pages were dy'd.

Sensibility smil'd, as the records she press'd,
And sigh'd as in pity these words were express'd;
" Oh, Cook, who shall now the world dare explore?
" Who'll venture, my hero, now thou art no more?

" No more, ah, Ouhyhee! thy Cook will appear,
" The friend of mankind who you struck with the spear!
" He came to your succour, proud savages know,
" He came as a friend — whom you slew as a foe. "

She ceas'd, when a voice shook the heav'ns around,
" Minerva, forbear! see the gods have him crown'd.
" Be joyful, " cry'd Jove, " for the trophies he's won,
" Have prov'd him my daughter's legitimate son. "

The portals of heaven were op'd to her view,
She saw him enthron'd in a vesture of blue:
" Yes, Britain! " she cry'd, in a transport of love,
" Cook's honour'd on earth, and held sacred above! "