The son of Alcmena the champion of fable
Who strangled a viper while yet in the cradle:
The chief who rush'd bold thro the Granican flood,
While the Fates, pale with fear, on the shore
The word ladies use tho their bosoms cry yes,
When the lads, saucy fellows! their suits fondly press:
And the sage whose great soul rang'd thro
ether on high
Scan'd ev'ry far planet and measur'd the sky.
The realm which fair Freedom has called her own,
Where her standard high waves o'er
her deep-rooted throne,
Where the maidens are constant & faithful the swains,
And the cadence of rapture is rung o'er the plains.
The region where goodness and virtue will soar
When earth with its tinsel, and time are no more.
The season of visions with terrors unfolding
And the skies' fierce virago perpetually scolding.
The Queen of Egypta Mark Antony's bane
At once both the pride of the sex & the shame.
What the sweet girl I love can bestow if she please;
And the tree whose soft branch is the
emblem of peace.
That passion ecstatic which unites & combines
In a center delightful susceptible minds --
Which arouses to fury -- and lulls to repose --
As keen as the thorn, yet as sweet as the rose.
The author of Shandy, all laughter & glee
Whose pencil from gall was forever kept free: