[BIRTHDAY ODE] TO MY SON AT SCHOOL, AGED 13, JUNE 11. Anne Hunter (née Home) Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. Hunter, Anne Home (Mrs. John), 1742-1821. Poems, by Mrs. John Hunter. London Printed for T. Payne, Mews Gate, by T. Bensley, Bolt Court, Fleet Street 1802 pp. 23-25.

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[ BIRTHDAY ODE ] TO MY SON AT SCHOOL , AGED 13 , JUNE 11. OF thee , dear boy , the muse shall sing , With joy she strikes the tuneful string , To hail thy natal hour ; And O may lasting be the joy , Nor , as the man suceeds the boy , The fruit disgrace the flower ! Still warm and tender be thy heart , To honour true , devoid of art , The wisdom of the weak ; Still gen'rous , feeling , and sincere , Give misery the melting tear , And joy the glowing cheek . The gliding years move swiftly on , And thy third lustre almost gone , New cares appear in view , Behold the world's eventful stage ; Where talents in a riper age Must future hopes pursue . But he who excellence attains , Toils up the steep , the summit gains , Nor shrinks from burning skies , Nor loiters in the midway shade , But climbs with firm and steady tread Where rocks successive rise . Till now thou hast but wander'd wild , A giddy , thoughtless , playful child , In sport around the base ; 'Tis time to try the mountain's side , And search with manly , honest pride A more distinguish'd place . Court then the muse , her magic pow'r Can shorten many a ling'ring hour Through life's uneven way ; While science , by those laws divine Which guide to truth's eternal shrine , Shall clear thy mental day . Go on , dear boy ! 'tis virtue leads ; He that determines half succeeds , Nor obstacles can move : Seek useful knowledge , honest fame , Do honour to an honour'd name , And well thy race approve . O think ! what joy my heart shall know , How bright th' expiring lamp shall glow , When quiv'ring o'er the tomb , If , in the ev'ning of my days , I live to hear thy well earn'd praise , And see thy honours bloom . If life's decline should be so bless'd , How satisfy'd shall shrink to rest Thy mother and thy friend ; For well the Grecian sage defin'd The happiest lot of human kind , So fortunate an end . See Solon's Answer to Crassus , Herodotus , book i .