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Full many a gem of purest ray serene,

“ One morn I miss'd him on the 'custom'd hill, The dark urfathom'd caves of ocean bear:

Along the heath and near his favourite tree; Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, Another came; nor yet beside the rill, And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he: Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast “ The next with dirges due in sad array (borne. The little tyrant of his fields withstood;

Slow through the church-way path we saw him Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay,

Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood. Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.”

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Yet ev'n these bones from insult to protect,

Some frail memorial still erected nigh, With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture

deck’d, Implores the passing tribute of a sighi. Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd Muse,

The place of fame and elegy supply: And many a holy text around she strews,

That teach the rustic moralist to die.

Φωνανία συνεοισιν ες
Δε το ταν έρμηνέων χαζε.

Pindar. Olym. ii.

For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prey,

This pleasing anxious being e'er resign’d, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,

Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind ?

On some fond breast the parting soul relies,

Some pious drops the closing eye requires ; Ev'n from the tomb the voice of Nature cries,

Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted fires.

For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead,

Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; If chance, by lonely Contemplation led,

Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, Haply some hoary-headed swain may say,

“ Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away

To meet the Sun upon the upland lawn.

I.
AWAKE, Eolian lyre, awake,
And give to rapture all thy trembling strings
From Helicon's harmonious springs
A thousand rills their mazy progress take;
The laughing flowers that round them blow,
Drink life and fragrance as they flow.
Now the rich stream of music winds along,
Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong,
Through verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign :
Now rolling down the steep amain,
Headlong, impetuous, see it pour :
The rocks, and nodding groves, rebellow to the roar.

Oh! sovereign of the willing soul,
Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs,
Enchanting shell ! the sullen cares,

And frantic passions, hear thy soft control :
On Thracia's hills the lord of war
Has curb'd the fury of his car,
And dropp'd his thirsty lance at thy command:
Perching on the scepter'd hand
Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king
With ruffled plumes, and flagging wing:
Quench'd in dark clouds of slumber lie
The terrour of his beak, and lightning of his eye.
Thee the voice, the dance, obey,
Temper'd to thy warbled lay,
O'er Idalia's velvet-green
The rosy-crowned Loves are seen,
On Cytherea's day,

“ There at the foot of yonder nodding beech,

That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch,

And pore upon the brook that bubbles by. “ Hard hy yon wood, now smiling as in scorn,

Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove, Now drooping woeful wan, like one forlorn,

Or craz'd with care, or cross'd in hopeless lore.

With antic sports and blue-ey'd pleasures,

Thine too these golden keys, immortal boy! Frisking light in frolic measures;

This can unlock the gates of Joy; Now pursuing, now retreating,

Of Horrour that, and thrilling fears, Now in circling troops they meet :

Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears." To brisk notes in cadence beating Glance their many-twinkling feet.

Nor second he t, that rode sublime Slow-melting strains their queen's approach declare : Upon the seraph-wings of Ecstasy, Where'er she turns, the Graces homage pay,

The secrets of th' abyss to spy. With arts sublime, that float upon the air,

He pass'd the flaming bounds of place and time: In gliding state she wins her easy way:

The living throne, the sapphire-blaze,
O'er her warm cheek, and rising bosom, move Where angels tremble, while they gaze,
The bloom of young Desire, and purple light of Love. He saw; but, blasted with excess of light,

Clos'd his eyes in endless night.
II.

Behold, where Dryden's less presumptuous car,

Wide o'er the fields of Glory bear Man's feeble race what ills await,

Two coursers of ethereal race , (ing pace. Labour and Penury, the racks of Pain,

With necks in thunder cloth'd, and long-resound. Disease, and Sorrow's weeping train,

And Death, sad refuge from the storms of Fate! Hark, his hands the lyre explore ! The fond complaint, my song, disprove,

Bright-ey'd Fancy, hovering o’er, And justify the laws of Jove.

Scatters from her pictur'd urn Say, has he given in vain the heavenly Muse ?

Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. Night, and all her sickly dews,

But ah! 't is heard no more — Her spectres wan, and birds of boding cry,

Oh! lyre divine, what daring spirit He gives to range the dreary sky:

Wakes thee now ? though he inherit Till down the eastern cliffs afar

(war. Nor the pride, nor ample pinion, Hyperion's march they spy, and glittering shafts of 'That the Theban eagle bear,

Sailing with supreme dominion In climes beyond the solar road,

Through the azure deep of air : Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam,

Yet oft before his infant eyes would run The Muse has broke the twilight gloom

Such forms as glitter in the Muse's ray To cheer the shivering native's dull abode.

With orient hues, unborrow'd of the Sun : And oft, beneath the odorous shade

Yet shall he inount, and keep his distant way Of Chili's boundless forests laid,

Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate, She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat, Beneath the good how far — but far above the great. In loose numbers wildly sweet, Their feather-cinctur’d chiefs, and dusky loves. Her track, where'er the goddess roves, Glory pursue, and generous Shame,

ODE ON THE SPRING. Th' unconquerable mind, and Freedom's holy flame.

Lo! where the rosy-bosom’d Hours, Woods, that wave o'er Delphi's steep,

Fair Venus' train appear, Isles, that crown th' Ægean deep,

Disclose the long-expecting flowers, Fields, that cool Ilissus laves,

And wake the purple year! Or where Mæander's amber waves

The attic warbler pours her throat, In lingering labyrinths creep,

Responsive to the cuckoo's note, How do your tuneful Echoes languish

The untaught harmony of Spring :
Mute, but to the voice of Anguish ?

While, whispering pleasure as they fly,
Where each old poetic mountain
Inspiration breath'd around :

Cool Zephyrs through the clear blue sky

Their gather'd fragrance Aling.
Every shade and hallow'd fountain
Murmur'd deep a solemn sound :

Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch Till the sad Nine, in Greece's evil hour,

A broader, browner shade ; Left their Parnassus, for the Latian plains.

Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant-power,

O’er-canopies the glade, And coward Vice, that revels in her chains.

Beside some water's rushy brink When Latium bad her lofty spirit lost,

With me the Muse shall sit, and think They sought, oh Albion! next thy sea-encircled coast.

(At ease reclin'd in rustic state)

How vain the ardour of the crowd,
III.

How low, how little are the proud,
Far from the Sun and summer-gale,

How indigent the great !
In thy green lap was Nature's darling * Jaid,
What time, where lucid Avon stray'd,

Still is the toiling hand of Care :
To him the mighty mother did unveil

The panting herds repose : Her aweful face : the dauntless child

Yet hark, how through the peopled air Stretch'd forth his little arms, and smil'd.

The busy murmur glows! ** This pencil take,” she said, “ whose colours clear Richly paint the vernal year :

+ Milton.

| Meant to express the stately march and sound• Shakspeare.

ing energy of Dryden's rhymes.

The insect youth are on the winy",

Where willowy Camus lingers with delight!
Eager to taste the honied spring,

Oft at the blush of dawn
And float amid the liquid noon :

I trod your level lawn,
Some lightly o'er the current skim,

Oft woo'd the gleam of Cynthia silver-bright
Some show their gayly-gilded trim

In cloisters dim, far from the haunts of Folly, Quick-glancing to the Sun.

With Freedom by my side, and soft-ey'd Melan.

choly."
To Contemplation's sober eye
Such is the race of man :

But hark! the portals sound, and pacing forth
And they that creep, and they that fly,

With solemn steps and slow,
Shall end where they began.

High potentates and dames of royal birth,
Alike the busy and the gay

And mitred fathers in long order go :
But flutter through life's little day,

Great Edward, with the lilies on his brow,
In Fortune's varying colours drest : From haughty Gallia torn,
Brush'd by the hand of rough Mischance; And sad Chatillon t, on her bridal mort
Or chill'd by Age, their airy dance

That wept her bleeding love, and princely Claret,
They leave in dust to rest.

And Anjou's & heroine, and the paler rose ,

The rival of her crown and of her woes,
Methinks I hear in accents low

And either Henry ( there,
The sportive kind reply ;

The murder'd saint, and the majestic lord,
“ Poor moralist! and what art thou?

That broke the bonds of Rome.
A solitary fly!

(Their tears, their little triumphs o'er,
Thy joys no glittering female meets,

Their human passions now no more,
No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets,

Save Charity, that glows beyond the tomb),
No painted plumage to display :

All that on Granta's fruitful plain
On hasty wings thy youth is flown :

Rich streams of regal bounty pour'd,
Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone -

And bade these aweful fanes and turrets rise,
We frolic while 't is May.'

To hail their Fitzroy's festal morning come;
And thus they speak in soft accord
The liquid language of the skies.

“ What is grandeur, what is power ?
ODE FOR MUSIC.

Heavier toil, superior pain.

What the bright reward we gain? PERFORMED IN THE SENATE-HOUSE AT CAMBRIDGE, The grateful memory of the good. JULY 1. 1769, AT

His Sweet is the breath of vernal shower, GRACE AUGUSTUS-HENRY-FITZROY, DUKE Or Graf- The bee's collected treasure's sweet, TON, CHANCELLOR OF THE UNIVERSITY.

Sweet music's melting fall, but sweeter yet

The still small voice of Gratitude." “ Hence, avaunt, ('t is holy ground,) Comus and his midnight-crew,

• Edward the Third; who added the fleur-deAnd Ignorance with looks profound,

lis of France to the arms of England. He founded And dreaming Sloth of pallid hue,

Trinity College.
Mad Sedition's cry profane,
Servitude that hugs her chain,

† Mary de Valentia, Countess of Pembroke, Nor in these consecrated bowers

daughter of Guy de Chatillon, Comte de St. Paul Let painted Flattery hide her serpent-train in flowers in France: of whom tradition says, that her bus Nor Envy base, nor creeping Gain,

band, Audemar de Valentia, Earl of Pembroke, was Dare the Muse's walk to stain,

slain at a tournament on the day of his puptials

She was the foundress of Pembroke College ar While bright-ey'd Science watches round: Hence, away, 't is holy ground !"

Hall, under the name of Aula Mariæ de Valentia.

| Elizabeth de Burg, Countess of Clare, was From yonder realms of empyrean day

wife of John de Burg, son and heir of the Earl of Bursts on my ear th' indignant lay :

Ulster, and daughter of Gilbert de Clare, Earl There sit the sainted sage, the bard divine,

Gloucester, by Joan of Acres, daughter of Edward The few, whom genius gave to shine

the First. Hence the poet gives her the epithet of Through every unborn age and undiscover'd clime. princely. She founded Clare-Hall. Rapt in celestial transport they, Yet hither oft a glance from high

§ Margaret of Anjou, wife of Henry the Sixth They send of tender sympathy

foundress of Queen's College. The poet had celeTo bless the place, where on their opening soul brated her conjugal fidelity in a former ode. First the genuine ardour stole.

| Elizabeth Widville, wife of Edward the Fourth 'T was Milton struck the deep-ton'd shell, And, as the choral warblings round him swell,

(hence called the paler rose, as being of the house Meek Newton's self bends from his state sublime,

of York). She added to the foundation of MarAnd nods his hoary head, and listens to the rhyme.

garet of Anjou.

q Henry the Sixth and Eighth. The former the “ Ye brown o'er-arching groves,

founder of King's, the latter the greatest benefactor That Contemplation loves,

to Trinity College

THE

INSTALLATION

OF

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“ Lo, Granta waits to lead her blooming band. Not obvious, not obtrusive, she No vulgar praise, no venal incense Alings; Nor dares with courtly tongue refin'd Profane thy inborn royalty of mind : She reveres herself and thee. With modest pride to grace thy youthful brow The laureat wreath, that Cecil | wore, she brings, And to thy just, thy gentle hand Submits the fasces of her sway, While spirits blest above and men below Join with glad voice the loud symphonious lay. Through the wild waves as they roar With watchful eye and dauntless mien Thy steady course of honour keep, Nor fear the rocks, nor seek the shore : The star of Brunswick smiles serene, And gilds the horrours of the deep.”

The hapless nymph with wonder saw :
A whisker first, and then a claw,

With many an ardent wish,
She stretch'd in vain to reach the prize ;
What female heart can gold despise ?

What cat 's averse to fish? Presumptuous maid! with looks intent Again she stretch'd, again she bent,

Nor knew the gulf between.
(Malignant Fate sate by, and smil'd,)
The slippery verge her feet beguild,

She tumbled headlong in.
Eight times emerging from the flood
She mew'd to every wat’ry god,

Some speedy aid to send.
No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr'd;
Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard,

A favourite has no friend !
From hence, ye beauties, undeceiv’d,
Know, one false step is ne'er retriev'd,

And be with caution bold.
Not all, that tempts your wandering eyes,
And heedless hearts, is lawful prize;

Not all that glisters, gold.

ODE

ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE.

ODE

ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE CAT, DROWNED IN A

TUB OF GOLD FISHES.

"Ανθρωπος: ικανή πρόφασις εις το δυσυχεϊν. .

Menander. Yr distant spires, ye antique towers,

That crown the wat'ry glade,
Where grateful Science still adores

Her Henry's $ holy shade ;
And ye, that from the stately brow
Of Windsor's heights th' expanse below

Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey,
Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among
Wanders the hoary Thames along

His silver-winding way.

'T was on a lofty vase's side, Where China's gayest art had dy'd

The azure flowers that blow; Demurest of the tabby kind, The pensive Selima reclin'd,

Gaz'd on the lake below.

Her conscious tail her joy declar'd; The fair round face, the snowy beard,

The velvet of her paws, Her coat, that with the tortoise vies, Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes,

She saw; and purr'd applause.

Still had she gaz'd; but ʼmidst the tide
Two angel forms were seen to glide,

The Genii of the stream :
Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue
Through richest purple to the view

Betray'd a golden gleam.

Countess of Richmond and Derby; the mother of Henry the Seventh, foundress of St. John's and Christ's Colleges.

+ The Countess was a Beaufort, and married to a Tudor; hence the application of this line to the Duke of Grafton, who claims descent from both these families.

Lord treasurer Burleigh was chancellor of the University in the reign of Queen Elizabeth.

Ah, happy hills, ah, pleasing shade,

Ah, fields belov'd in vain,
Where once my careless childhood stray'd,

A stranger yet to pain !
I feel the gales, that from ye blow,
A momentary bliss bestow,

As waving fresh their gladsome wing,
My weary soul they seem to soothe,
And, redolent of joy and youth,

To breathe a second spring.
Say, father Thames, for thou hast seen

Full many a sprightly race
Disporting on thy margent green

The paths of pleasure trace,
Who foremost now delight to cleave
With pliant arm thy glassy wave ?

The captive linnet which enthral ?
What idle progeny succeed
To chase the rolling circle's speed,
• Or urge the flying ball ?

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While some on earnest business bent

Their murmuring labours ply 'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint

To sweeten liberty ;
Some bold adventurers disdair
The limits of their little reign,

And unknown regions dare descry:
Still as they run they look behind,
They hear a voice in every wind,

And snatch a fearful joy.

Yet ah! why should they know their fate? Since sorrow never comes too late,

And happiness too swiftly flies. Thought would destroy their Paradise. No more; where ignorance is bliss,

'T is folly to be wise.

THE BARD.

A PINDARICODE.

i

Gay Hope is theirs, by Fancy fed,

Less pleasing, when possest; The tear forgot as soon as shed,

The sunshine of the breast : Theirs buxom health, of rosy hue; Wild wit, invention ever new,

And lively cheer of vigour born; The thoughtless day, the easy night, The spirits pure, the slumbers light,

That fly th' approach of morn.

1. « Ruin seize thee, ruthless king! Confusion on thy hanners wait! Though fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing, They mock the air with idle state. Helm, nor hauberk's * twisted mail, Nor e'en thy virtues, tyrant, shall avail To save thy secret soul from nightly fears, From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears!" Such were the sounds, that o'er the crested pride Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay, As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side He wound with toilsome march his long array. Stout Glo'ster + stood aghast in speechless trance : To arms! cried Mortimer f, and couch'd his qui.

vering lance.

Alas, regardless of their doom,

The little victims play!
No sense have they of ills to come,

Nor care beyond to-day.
Yet see how all around them wait
The ministers of human fate,

And black Misfortune's baleful train, Ah, show them where in ambush stand To seize their prey, the murderous band !

Ah, tell them, they are men !

These shall the fury passions tear,

The vultures of the mind, Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear,

And Shame that skulks behind; Or pining Love, shall waste their youth, Or Jealousy, with rankling tooth,

That inly gnaws the secret heart, And Envy wan, and faded Care, Grim-visag'd comfortless Despair,

And Sorrow's piercing dart.

Ambition this shall tempt to rise,

Then whirl the wretch from high, To bitter Scorn a sacrifice,

And grinning Infamy. The stings of Falsehood those shall try, And hard Unkindness' alter'd eye,

That mocks the tear it forc'd to flow; And keen Remorse, with blood defil'd, And moody Madness laughing wild

Amid severest woe

On a rock, whose haughty brow
Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood,
Rob'd in the sable garb of woe,
With haggard eyes the poet stood;
(Loose his beard, and hoary hair
Stream'd, like a meteor, to the troubled air,)
And with a master's hand, and prophet's fire,
Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre.
“ Hark, how each giant-oak, and desert care,
Sighs to the torrent's aweful voice beneath!
O'er thee, oh king! their hundred arms they wave,
Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe ;
Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day,
To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay.
« Cold is Cadwallo's tongue,
That hush'd the stormy main;
Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy

bed:
Mountains, ye mourn in vain
Modred, whose magic song
Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-top'd head.
On dreary Arvon's shore they lie,
Smear'd with gore, and ghastly pale:
Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens sail :
The famish'd eagle screams, and passes by.
Dear lost companions of my tuneful art,
Dear, as the light that visits these sad eyes,
Dear, as the ruddy drops that warm my heart,
Ye died amidst your dying country's cries –
The hauberk was a texture of steel ringlets

, or rings interwoven, forming a coat of mail, that set close to the body, and adapted itself to every

+ Gilbert de Clare, surnamed the Red, Earl of Gloucester and Hertford, son-in-law to King Ed ward,

Edmond de Mortimer, Lord of Wigmore. Ś The shores of Caernarvonshire opposite to the Isle of Anglesea.

Lo, in the vale of years beneath

A grisly troop are seen, The painful family of Death,

More hideous than their queen :
This racks the joints, this fires the veins,
That every labouring sinew strains,

Those in the deeper vitals rage:
Lo, Poverty, to fill the band,
That numbs the soul with icy hand,

And slow-consuming Age.
To each his sufferings : all are men,

Condemn'd alike to groan;
The tender for another's pain,

The unfeeling for his own.

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