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LINES PRESENTED TO THE SAME, WITH THE “BRITISH NEPOS .”
Enough of Greece and Rome, and every Name
Sacred at once to Virtue and to Fame;
Whate'er the World's imperial Mistress taught,
Her Warriors conquer'd, or her Students thought,
In Latian Realms,—the Brave, the Good, the Wise,
The Schools will place before your wond'ring eyes.
Solon the Good, and Plato the Divine,
And the proud Chieftains of the Cæsar line;
Tully the Learn'd, and Seneca the Sage,
Are all emblazon'd in the classic page;
Of these already you have read the praise—
Their fame—the lesson of your boyish days.
Sacred at once to Virtue and to Fame;
Whate'er the World's imperial Mistress taught,
Her Warriors conquer'd, or her Students thought,
In Latian Realms,—the Brave, the Good, the Wise,
The Schools will place before your wond'ring eyes.
Solon the Good, and Plato the Divine,
And the proud Chieftains of the Cæsar line;
Tully the Learn'd, and Seneca the Sage,
Are all emblazon'd in the classic page;
Of these already you have read the praise—
Their fame—the lesson of your boyish days.
But, ah! the fervors of my patriot heart
Would now a pleasure nearer home impart;
Sanction'd by Truth, and touch'd with fond delight,
Would Albion's Heroes set before your sight:
Her Native Rights, with heart enraptur'd, show,
And teach your bosom, like my own, to glow;
All that is Briton in your soul would fire,
And many a god-like energy inspire.
Would now a pleasure nearer home impart;
Sanction'd by Truth, and touch'd with fond delight,
Would Albion's Heroes set before your sight:
Her Native Rights, with heart enraptur'd, show,
And teach your bosom, like my own, to glow;
All that is Briton in your soul would fire,
And many a god-like energy inspire.
In this rich volume, dearest Youth, survey
The awful claims our Albion may display:
Oh! take the Gift, and sacred be its place;
'Tis a rare Jewel in a beauteous case.
Fix it on faithful Mem'ry's Tablet fair,
And guard it with a more than filial care:
The story of your Birth-right there behold,
Where generous Thoughts, and Deeds sublime, are told.
The awful claims our Albion may display:
Oh! take the Gift, and sacred be its place;
'Tis a rare Jewel in a beauteous case.
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And guard it with a more than filial care:
The story of your Birth-right there behold,
Where generous Thoughts, and Deeds sublime, are told.
See, and admire, array'd in order due,
As the Historian moves his pencil true;
The Worthies of the Isle,—a chosen Band!
As in “their days of nature” seem to stand;
Breathing of Virtue pure, and Sense refin'd,
The boast of Man,—the Lords of human kind!
Vivid and warm, lo Bards and Heroes shine,
Proud Rome and Athens! bright and brave as thine;
Or thine, immortal Greece! though Homer strung
His deathless harp till all thy mountains rung.
As the Historian moves his pencil true;
The Worthies of the Isle,—a chosen Band!
As in “their days of nature” seem to stand;
Breathing of Virtue pure, and Sense refin'd,
The boast of Man,—the Lords of human kind!
Vivid and warm, lo Bards and Heroes shine,
Proud Rome and Athens! bright and brave as thine;
Or thine, immortal Greece! though Homer strung
His deathless harp till all thy mountains rung.
Praise to the Heathen Lyre! wherever found
Talent, or Worth, let Glory's Trumpet sound;
Wherever awful Genius may reside,
The Muse shall hail it with a patriot pride:
Light of the Earth! it is the spark of Heav'n!
Not to one Clime, but to all Nature giv'n:
Shine where it may, with homage will I bend,
Not to a Foe, but to Creation's Friend.
Thus Sol's blest beams, though in the East they rise,
Spread more and more till they illume the skies;
To Nature's utmost bounds diffuse the day,
And countless worlds partake the genial ray.
Talent, or Worth, let Glory's Trumpet sound;
Wherever awful Genius may reside,
The Muse shall hail it with a patriot pride:
Light of the Earth! it is the spark of Heav'n!
Not to one Clime, but to all Nature giv'n:
Shine where it may, with homage will I bend,
Not to a Foe, but to Creation's Friend.
Thus Sol's blest beams, though in the East they rise,
Spread more and more till they illume the skies;
To Nature's utmost bounds diffuse the day,
And countless worlds partake the genial ray.
Yet let us to our own fair fame be true;
Ourselves to reverence, is no maxim new;
The Christian Lyre, and Laurel, sure, commands
The Wreath of Honours wove by Christian hands;
Our Alfreds, Sydneys, Newtons, Hampdens, claim;
Bacon of wise, and Drake of glorious fame;
Milton, the British Muses' darling boast;
And Avon's matchless Bard—himself a Host!
Ourselves to reverence, is no maxim new;
The Christian Lyre, and Laurel, sure, commands
The Wreath of Honours wove by Christian hands;
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Bacon of wise, and Drake of glorious fame;
Milton, the British Muses' darling boast;
And Avon's matchless Bard—himself a Host!
These, and unnumber'd more like these, appear,
And the fair Volume, which I send, endear:
As in a pictur'd Gallery, here you find
The form and figure of Britannia's mind,
Tints of her heart, and touches of her soul,
Wrought by the Painter to a beauteous whole.
Here you observe her shine divinely fair,
Her Friends' just Glory, and her Foes' Despair.
And the fair Volume, which I send, endear:
As in a pictur'd Gallery, here you find
The form and figure of Britannia's mind,
Tints of her heart, and touches of her soul,
Wrought by the Painter to a beauteous whole.
Here you observe her shine divinely fair,
Her Friends' just Glory, and her Foes' Despair.
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