Classic Poem

The guile and softness of the Saxon race
In gallant Briton's soul had never place;
Strong as his rocks, and in his language pure,
In his own innocence and truth secure:
Such is the bold, the noble mountaineer,
As void of treason as he is of fear.
He scorns supplanting arts and crafts as base,
But like his hero ancestors he loves the manly chase.
His soil abounds with nature's choicest store,
His mountains' entrails stuffed with precious ore;
Yet sordid avarice could ne'er invade
The well-tuned soul, for love and music made.
Music and amorous poetry inspire
The natural bard as soon as genial fire.
With equal appetite his lively mate
(Blooming and fair as nature's unsoiled state)
Affords him joys as vigorous as their blood
When with delight they calm its raging flood.
Scarce fancied blessings could with his compare,
Did he not with us griping bondage share;
But till (as fatal prophecies have spoke)
By his roused valour all our chains are broke,
Silent he lies beneath the galling yoke.
So hidden mines their horrid fate conceal
Till well-timed fire the mighty force reveal:
At heaven and liberty the powder aims
And mounts in glorious and destroying flames.

The guile and softness of the Saxon race
In gallant Briton's soul had never place;
Strong as his rocks, and in his language pure,
In his own innocence and truth secure:
Such is the bold, the noble mountaineer,
As void of treason as he is of fear.
He scorns supplanting arts and crafts as base,
But like his hero ancestors he loves the manly chase.
His soil abounds with nature's choicest store,
His mountains' entrails stuffed with precious ore;
Yet sordid avarice could ne'er invade
The well-tuned soul, for love and music made.
Music and amorous poetry inspire
The natural bard as soon as genial fire.
With equal appetite his lively mate
(Blooming and fair as nature's unsoiled state)
Affords him joys as vigorous as their blood
When with delight they calm its raging flood.
Scarce fancied blessings could with his compare,
Did he not with us griping bondage share;
But till (as fatal prophecies have spoke)
By his roused valour all our chains are broke,
Silent he lies beneath the galling yoke.
So hidden mines their horrid fate conceal
Till well-timed fire the mighty force reveal:
At heaven and liberty the powder aims
And mounts in glorious and destroying flames.