Answer:
Oh thou, whatever title please thine ear,
Judge, General, Delegate or Register,
Whether thou chuse the high Comptroller's air,
Or frown more grimly in they Council-chair,
Catch some new salary from each opening job,
At Congress rail or vindicate the Mob;
Thou Mil'eped of Office, hear my lays,
And aid the Bard that sings they welcome praise!
Oh for a muse of fire! sublime to draw
The Judge unfetter'd by the rules of law;
The self-taught General, valiant to controul
The dangerous passions of the daring Soul;
In Compo's scene, whose Christian spirit shone,
Spa'd the fo's lives and gladly skreen'd his own,
Or sing in strains unus'd to mortal ear,
Th' un etter'd Statesman and Anarchian seer,
Thine the dread talk, on thy immortal plan,
From foederal ties to guard the rights of man,
At power's deep root to lay the patriot ax,
Oppose the impost and prevent the tax,
Bid depreciation pay the public debt,
And teach the noblest art, that art to cheat;
Thro' all the States thy dark'ning mists to spread,
And shroud their senses in chaotic shade,
O'er their true Interest close the curtain draw,
Hide them from light and cover them from law,
With jealous arts misguide the wayward throng,
Supremely blind, and obstinately wrong!
With insect ken to local views confin'd
Display thy pigmy penury of mind;
To other shores bid wealthy commerce pass,
" The State surrounding with they wall of brass,"
Bid insurrections claim thy noblest praise,
O'er WASHINGTON exalt thy darling Shays*,
With thy contagion embrio Mobs inspire,
And blow to tenfold rage the kindling fire:
Till the wider relam to discord bow the Knee,
And hold true faith in Anarch and in thee.
Still may'st thou thus support th' unfoederal cause,
The scourge of Congress and the dread of laws:
May never age, pain, sickness or despair,
Attack thy life with unsuccessful War:
Or late, when all the race of same is run,
All parts accomplish'd and all duties done,
Proud Rulers cross'd by the supreme decree;
Our Governor, Council, Judges, men like thee;
Our debts all cancel'd in one-sav'ring hour,
And Congress bare'd of every plume of power;
Their Requisitions, by they bold attack,
Sunk in the whirlpool of the gen'ral wreck;
From dreadful arts of Cincinnati free,
Foil'd by the breath of Wimble and of thee;
All souls redu'd, that 'er presum'd to shine,
To one just level and the rank of thine;
This world forsaking, fairly may'st thou rise
Above the Earth and pointing to the skies;
While the great finisher of mortal strife,
Shall close thy glories with the line of life;
Where Seraphs, then, in brighter regions burn;
Go thou a glowing Seraph in thy turn;
With souls congenial in those realms that dwell,
Receive the meed you long deserv'd so well;
Ther draw they comrades, in the closing striug.
And glad those Regions with the sons you bring;
And in thy Patriot-bosom yield a room,
For all the race Wrongheads yet to come.
Explanation:
Warning: This is not an original poem but you should be able to modify this to your liking or use it as strong inspiration. Good luck, hope this helps!!
