To the Americans of the United States

Men of this passing age!--whose noble deeds
Honour will bear above the scum of Time:
Ere this eventful century expire,
Once more we greet you with our humble rhyme:
Pleased, if we meet your smiles, but--if denied,
Yet, with Your sentence, we are satisfied.

Catching our subjects from the varying scene
Of human things; a mingled work we draw,
Chequered with fancies odd, and figures strange,
Such, as no courtly poet ever saw;
Who writ, beneath some Great Man's ceiling placed;
Travelled no lands, nor roved the watery waste.

To seize some features from the faithless past;
Be this our care--before the century close:
The colours strong!--for, if we deem aright,
The coming age will be an age of prose:
When sordid cares will break the muses' dream,
And Common Sense be ranked in seat supreme.

Go, now, dear book; once more expand your wings:
Still in the cause of Man severely true:
Untaught to flatter pride, or fawn on kings;--
Trojan, or Tyrian,--give them both their due.--
When they are right, the cause of both we plead,
And both will please us well,--if both will read.