Anna Seward

Sonnet 54. Guard thou, my Son, the Helpless and the Poor

   A PERSIAN KING TO HIS SON.

   FROM A PROSE TRANSLATION IN SIR WILLIAM JONES' ESSAY
   ON THE POETRY OF THE EASTERN NATIONS.

Guard thou, my Son, the Helpless and the Poor,
    Nor in the chains of thine own indolence
    Slumber enervate, while the joys of sense
    Engross thee; and thou say'st, “I ask no more.”—
Wise Men the Shepherd's slumber will deplore
    When the rapacious Wolf has leapt the fence,
    And ranges thro' the fold.—My Son, dispense
    Those laws, that justice to the Wrong'd restore.—
The Common-Weal shou'd be the first pursuit
    Of the crown'd Warrior, for the royal brows
    The People first enwreath'd.—They are the Root,
The King the Tree. Aloft he spreads his boughs
    Glorious; but learn, impetuous Youth, at length,
    Trees from the Root alone derive their strength.