English poem
Sonnet 1 (Why should I waste invention to…)
by John Taylor (1808–1887)
Why should I waste invention to indite, Ovidian fictions, or Olympian games? My misty Muse enlightened with more light, To a more noble pitch her aim she frames. I must relate to my great Master James, The Caledonian annual peaceful war; How noble minds do eternize their fames, By martial meeting in the Brae of Mar: How thousand gallant spirits came near and far, With swords and targets, arrows, bows, and guns, That all the troop to men of judgment, are The God of Wars great never conquered sons, The sport is manly, yet none bleed but beasts, And last the victor on the vanquished feasts.