The Origin Of The Knights Of The Bath, Extract Poem by Laurence Eusden

Hail glorious Off-spring of a glorious Race!
Britannia's other Hope, and blooming Grace!
Thou smil'st already on the burnish'd Shield,
And thy weak Hand the little Sword can wield:
Already, clad in Arms, Thou mov'st along,
The Love, and Wonder of each ravish'd Throng!
A-while vouchsafe, young Hero, to retire
'Mid Streams, and Grottos, and th'Aonian Choir:
Apollo, God of Fore-sight, who with Ease
Thy distant, ripen'd Years, as present, sees,
Bids all the Muses Thee receive with Pride,
To all the Muses by all Arts ally'd.