"And you who tho' by the rude torrent borne

"Thro' the world's intricate or rugged ways, "Conducted by Religion's facred rays, "Whofe foul-invigorating influence

prove.

"Eftfcons by your joint efforts fhall be quell'd

Yon haughty giant, who fo proudly fways "A fceptre by repute alone upheld, "Who where he cannot dictate straight obeys: "Accuftom'd to conform his flatt'ring phrale "To numbers and hight-plac'd authority "Your party he will join, your maxims praife, “And, drawing after all his menial fry,

Soon teach the gen'ral voice your act to ratify. "Ne for th' atchievement of this great emprize "The want of means or countel may ye dread; From my twin-daughters' fruitful wombs fhal! "A race of letter'd fages deeply read [rife

In learning's various writ, by whom yled "Thro' each well-cultur'd plot, each beauteous 66 grove,

"Where antic wifdom whilom wont to tread, "With mingled glee and profit may ye rove, And cull each virtuous plant, each tree of knowledge prove.

"Yourselves with virtue thus and knowledge "fraught,

46

"Of what in ancient days of good or great "Hiftorians, bards, philofophers, have taught, Join'd with whatever elfe of modern date "Maturer judgment, fearch more accurate, "Difcover'd have of Nature, Man and God, "May by new laws reform the time-worn ftate "Of cell-bred difcipline, and fmoothe the road "That leads thro' learning's vale to wifdom's "bright abode.

"By you invited to her fecret bow'rs, "Then fhall Pædia re-afcend her throne, "With vivid laurels girt and fragrant flow'rs; "While from their forked mount defcending down "Yon fupercilious pedant train fhall own "Her empire paramount, ere long by her

66

Ytaught a leffon in their fchools unknown, "To learning's richest treasure to prefer "The knowledge of the world and man's "bufinefs there.

"On this prime fcience, as the final end
"Of all her difcipline and nurt'ring care,
"Her eye Padia fixing, aye fhall bend
"Her ev'ry thought and effort to prepare
"Her tender pupils for the various war

great

Which vice and folly thall upon them wage "As on the perilous march of life they fate, "With prudent lore fore-arming ev'ry age "Gaint Pleasure's treach'rous joys and Pain's "embattled rage.

"Then fall my youthful fons, to wifdom led By fair example and ingenuous praite, With willing feet the paths of duty tread,

7

Shall purge their minds from all impure allays "Of fordid elifhnefs, and brutal fente; [lence. "And fwell th' ennobled heart with bleft beneva

Then alfo fhall this emblematic pile,

By magic whilom fram'd to fympathife With all the fortunes of this changeful ifle, "Still as my fons in fame and virtue rife, [kics "Grow with their growth, and to th' applauding "Its radiant crofs uplift; the while to grace "The multiplying niches freth fupplics

66

66

Of worthies fhall fucceed, with equal pace Aye following their fires in virtue's glorious "race."

Fir'd with th' idea of her future fame,
She rofe majestic from her lowly ftead,
While from her vivid eyes a fparkling flame
Outbeaming, with unwonted light o'erfpread
That monumental pile, and, as her head
To ev'ry front the turn'd, difcover'd round
The venerable forms of heroes dead,
Who for their various merit, crft renown'd,
In this bright fare of glory thrines of honour found.
On thefe that royal dame her ravish'd eyes
Would often feaft; and ever as the fpied [rife,
Forth from the ground the length'ning structure
With new-plac'd ftatues deck'd on ev'ry fide,
Her parent breaft would fwell with gen'rous pride.
And now with her in that fequefter'd plain
The knight a while conftraining to abide,
She to the Fairy youth with pleafure fain
Thofe fculptur'd chiefs did fhew, and their great
lives explain.

§59. A Birth-Day Thought. CANI, all gracious Providence Can I deferve thy care? Ah! no: I've not the leaft pretence To bounties which I fhare. Have I not been defended ftill

From dangers and from death; Been fafe pretery'd from ev'ry ill

O! teach

E'er fince thou gave me breath?
I live once more, to fee the day
That brought me first to light;
my willing heart the way
To take thy mercies right.
Tho' dazzling fplendor, pomp, and show,
My fortune has denied;

Yet more than grandeur can bestow
Content hath well fupplied.

No ftrife has e'er difturb'd my peace,

No mis'ries have I known;

And, that I'm blefs'd with health and cafe, With humble thanks I own."

I envy no one's birth or fame,

Their titles, train, or drefs;

Nor has my pride e'er fretch'd its aim
Beyond what I poflefs."

I afk

I ask and with, not to appear

More beauteous, rich, or gay

Lord, make me wifer ev'ry year,

And better ev'ry day.

From her loofe hair the dropping dew she prefs'd, And thus mine ear in accents mild addrefs'd:

No more, my fon, the rural reed employ, Nor trill the tinkling ftrain of empty joy; No more thy love-refounding fonnets fuit To notes of paft'ral pipe, or oaten flute.

Day of the Year 1782.

SEVENTEEN Hundred Eighty-one

Is now for ever past;

Seventeen Hundred Eighty-two
Will fly away as fast.

But whether life's uncertain scene
Shall hold an equal pace;

Or whether death fhall come between,
And end my mortal race :

Or whether fick nefs, pain, or health,
My future lot fhall be;

Or whether poverty or wealth,

Is all unknown to me.

One thing I know, that needful 'tis
To watch with careful eye;
Since ev'ry season spent amifs

Is register'd on high.

Too well I know what precious hours
My wayward paffions wafte;
And oh I find my mortal pow'rs

To duft and darkness hafte.
Earth rolls her rapid seasons round,
To meet her final fire;
But virtue is with glory crown'd,

Tho' funs and ftars expire.

What awful thoughts! what truth fublime! What useful lesson this!

O let me well improve my time !

Oh! let me die in peace!

To the dear Mufe afflicted Freedom calls:
When freedom calls, and Oxford bids thee fing,
Why ftays thy hand to ftrike the founding ftring?
While thus, in Freedom's and in Phoebus' fpite,
The venal fons of flavish Cam unite;

To shake yon towers when malice rears her creft,
Shall all my fons in filence idly reft?

Still fing, O Cam, your fav'rite freedom's caufe, Still boaft of freedom, while you break her laws; To Pow'r your fongs of gratulation pay; To courts addrefs foft flattery's fervile lay. What though your gentle Mafon's plaintive verfe Has hung with fweeteft wreaths Mufeus' herfe; What though your vaunted hard's ingenuous woe, Soft as my ftream, in tuneful numbers flow; Yet ftrove his Mufe, by fame or envy led, To tear the laurels from a fifter's head?. Mifguided youth! with rude unclaffic rage To blot the beauties of thy whiter page; A rage that fullies e'en thy guiltless lays, And blafts the vernal bloom of half thy bays.

Let boast the patrons of her name,
Each fplendid fool of fortune and of fame:
Still of preferment let her fhine the queen,
Prolific parent of cach bowing dean:

Be hers each prelate of the pamper'd cheek,
Each courtly chaplain, fanctify'd and fleek :
Still let the drones of her exhaustless hive
On rich pluralities fupinely thrive:
Still let her fenates titled flaves revere,
Nor dare to know the patriot from the peer;
No longer charm'd by virtue's lofty fong,
Once heard fage Milton's manly tones among,

Elegy. T. WARTON.

Quid mihi nefcio quam, proprio cum Tybride, Romam
Semper in ore geris? Referunt û vera parentes,
Hanc Urbem infano nullus qui Marte petivit,
Lactatus violaffe redit. Nec Numina Sedern
Deftituunt.*****

CLAUDIAN.

;

With loit'ring wave his groves of laurel feeds.
'Tis ours, my fon, to deal the facred bay,
Where honour calls, and juftice points the way;
To wear the well-earn'd wreath that merit brings,
And fnatch a gift beyond the reach of kings.
Scorning and fcorn'd by courts, yon Mufe's bow'
Still nor enjoys nor feeks the fmile of pow'r.

Though wakeful vengeance watch my cryftal
Though perfecution wave her iron wing, [fpring,
And o'er yon fpiry temples as the flies,
"Thofe deftin'd feats be mine," exulting cries;
Fortune's fair fimiles on Ifis ftill attend:
And, as the dews of gracious heaven defcend
Unafk'd, unfeen, in ftill but copious show'rs,
Her ftores on me fpontaneous bounty pours.
See, Science walks with recent chaplets crown'd;
With Fancy's ftrain my fairy fhades refound;
My Mufe divine ftill keeps her custom'd state,
The mien erect, and high majeftic gait :
Green as of old each oliv'd portal smiles,
And fill the graces build my Grecian piles:
My gothic fpires in ancient glory rife,
And dare with wonted pride to ruth into the skies,
E ca

E'en late when Radcliffe's delegated train Aufpicious fhone in Ifis' happy plain; [thrine, When yon proud dome, fair learning's ampleft Beneath its attic roofs receiv'd the Nine; Was rapture mute, or ceas'd the glad acclaim, To Radcliffe due, and Ifis' honour'd name? What free-born crowds adorn'd the festive day, Nor blush'd to wear my tributary bay! How each brave breast with honeft ardours heav'd, When Sheldon's fane the patriot band receiv'd; While, as we loudly hail'd the chofen few, Rome's awful fenate rufh'd upon the view! O may the day in lateft annals fhine, That made a Beaufort and an Harley mine; That bade them leave the loftier fcene awhile, The pomp of guiltiefs ftate, the patriot toil, For bleeding Albion's aid the fage defign, To hold fhert dalliance with the tuneful Nine! Then mufic left her filver fphere on high, And bore cach strain of triumph from the fky; Swell'd the loud fong, and to my chiefs around Pour'd the full peans of mellifluous found. My Naiads blythe the dying accents caught, And liftening danced beneath their pearly grot: In gentler eddies play'd my confcious wave, And all my reeds their fofteft whispers gave; Each lay with brighter green adorn'd my bow'rs, And breath'd a fresher fragrance on my flow'rs.

But lo! at once the pealing concerts ceafe, And crowded theatres are hufh'd in peace. See, on yon fage how all attentive ftand, To catch his parting eye, and waving hand. Hark! he begins, with all a Tully's art, To pour the dictates of a Cato's heart. Skill'd to pronounce what nobleft thoughts infpire, He blends the fpeaker's with the patriot's fire; Bold to conceive, nor tim'rous to conceal, What Britons dare to think he dares to tell. "Tis his alike the car and eyes to charm, To win with action, and with fenfe to warm. Untaught in flow'ry periods to difpenfe The lulling founds of fweet impertinence: In frowns or files he gains an equal prize, Nor meanly fears to fall, nor creeps to rife; Bids happier days to Aibion be reftor'd, Bids ancient juftice rear her radiant fword; From me, as from my country, claims applaufe, And makes an Oxford's a Britannia's cause. While arms like thefe my ftedfaft fages wield, While mine is Truth's impenetrable fhield; Say, shall the puny champion fond y dare To wage with force like this fcholaftic war? Still vainly fcribble on with pert pretence,With all the rage of pedant impotence? Say, fhall I fofter this domestic pest, This parricide, that wounds a mother's breaft? Thus in fome gallant fhip, that long has bore Britain's victorious crofs from fhore to thore, By chance, beneath her close sequefter'd cells Some low-born worm, a lurking mifchief dwells; Eats his blind way, and faps with fecret guile The deep foundations of the floating pile.

In vain the foreft lent its ftatelicft pride,
Rear'd her tall mast, and fram'd her knotty fide;
The martial thunder's rage in vain the food,
With ev'ry conflict of the ftormy flood;
More fure the reptile's little arts devour
Than wars, or waves, or Eurus' wint'ry pow'r.
Ye fretted pinnacks, ye fanes fublime,
Ye tow'rs that wear the inoffy veft of time!
Ye maffy piles of old munificence,
At once the pride of learning and defence;
Ye cloifters pale, that length ning to the fight
To contemplation, step by step, invite;
Ye high-arch'd walks, where cft the whispers

clear

Of harps unfeen have fwept the poet's ear;
Ye temples dim, where pious duty pays
Her holy hymns of ever-echoing praife;
Lo! your
lov'd Ifs, from the bord'ring vale,
With all a mother's fondnefs bids
you hail!-
Hail, Oxford, hail ! of all that's good and great,
Of all that 's fair, the guardian and the feat;
Nurfe of each brave purfuit, each gen'rous aim,
By truth exalted to the throne of fame!
Like Greece in fcience and in liberty,.
As Athens learn'd, as Lacedemon free!

Ev'n now, confefs'd to my adoring eyes,
In awful ranks thy gifted fons arife.
Tuning to knightly tale his British reeds,
Thy genuine bards immortal Chaucer leads:
His hoary head o'erlooks the gazing quire,
And beams on all around celeftial fire.
With graceful itp fee Addifon advance,
The fweeteft child of Attic elegance :
See Chillingworth the depths of doubt explore,
And Selden ope the rolls of ancient lore:
To all but his belov'd einbrace deny'd,
See Locke lead Reafon, his majestic bride:
See Hammond pierce religion's golden mine,
And spread the treafur'd itores of Truth divine.

All who to Albion gave the arts of peace, And beft the labours plann'd of letter'd eafe; Who taught with truth, or with. perfuafion mov'd, Who footh'd with numbers, or with fenfe improv'd; Who rang'd the pow'rs of reafon, or refin'd All that adorn'd or humaniz'd the mind; Each priest of health, that mix'd the balmy bowl, To rear frail man, and flay the fleeting foul; All crowd around, and, echoing to the fky, Hail, Oxford, hail! with filial tranfport cry.

And fee you fapient train! with lib ral aim, 'Twas theirs new plans of liberty to frame; And on the gothic gloom of flavish (way To fhed the dawn of intellectual day. With mild debate cach mufing feature glows, And well-weigh'd counsels niark their meaning brows.

"Lo! thefe the leaders of thy patriot line,"
A Raleigh, Hamden, and a Somers fhine.
Thefe from thy fource the bold contagion caught,
Their future fons the great example taught:
While in each youth th' hereditary flame
Still blazes, unextinguith'd, and the fame!

Nor all the tasks of thoughtful peace engage, 'Tis thine to form the hero as the fage. 1 fee the fable-fuited prince advance With lilies crown'd, the spoils of bleeding France, Edward. The Mufes in yon cloister's fhade Bound on his maiden thigh the martial blade: Bade him the fteel for British freedom draw; And Oxford taught the deeds that Creffy faw. And fee, great father of the facred band, The Patriot King before me feems to stand. He, by the bloom of this gay vale beguil'd, That cheer'd with lively green the fhaggy wild, Hither of yore, forlorn fo gotten maid, The Mufe in prattling infancy convey'd; From Vandal rage the helplefs virgin bore, And fix'd her cradle on my friendly fhore: Soon grew the maid beneath his foft'ring hand, Soon ftream'd her bleffings o'er the enlighten'd

land.

Though fimple was the dome, where firft to dwell
She deign'd, and rude her early Saxon cell,
Lo! now fhe holds her ftate in fculptur'd bow'rs,
And proudly lifts to heaven her hundred tow'rs.
'Twas Alfred firft, with letters and with laws,
Adorn'd, as he advanced, his country's caufe:
He bade relent the Briton's ftubborn foul,
And footh'd to foft fociety's controul
A rough untutor'd age. With raptur'd eye
Elate he views his laurel'd progeny:
Serene he fmiles to find, that not in vain
He form'd the rudiments of learning's reign:
Himself he marks in each ingenuous breast,
With all the founder in the race exprefs'd;
Confcious he fees fair Freedom ftill furvive
In yon bright domes, ill-fated fugitive!
(Glorious, as when the Goddess pour'd the beam
Unfully'd on his ancient diadem)

Well pleas'd, that at his own Pierian fprings
She refts her weary feet, and plumes her wings;
That here at laft the takes her deftin'd stand,
Here deigns to linger ere the leave the land.

§ 62. Infeription in a Hermitage, at Anfley-Hall, in Warwickshire. T. WARTON.

ENEATH this ftony roof reclin'd,

BEN

I footh to peace my penfive mind: And while, to fhade my lowly cave, Embow'ring elms their umbrage wave; And while the maple difh is mine, The beechen cup, unftain'd with wine; I fcorn the gay licentious crowd, Nor heed the toys that deck the proud. . Within my limits lone and still, The blackbird pipes in artless trill Faft by my couch, congenial guest, The wren has wove her moffy neft; From bufy fcenes and brighter fkies, To lurk with innocence, the flies; Here hopes in fafe repofe to dwell, Nor aught fufpects the fylvan cell.

At morn I take my custom'd round,
To mark how buds you fhrubby mound;
And ev'ry op'ning primrose count
That trimly paints my blooming mount:
Or o'er the fculptures, quaint and rude,
That grace my gloomy folitude,
I teach in winding wreaths to ftray
Fantaftic ivy's gadding fpray.

At eve, within yon ftudious nook,
I ope my brass-embolled book,
Pourtray'd with many a holy deed
Of martyrs, crown'd with heavenly meed:
Then, as my taper waxes dim,
Chant, ere I fleep, my meafur'd hymn;
And, at the clofe, the gleams behold
Of parting wings bedropt with gold.
While fuch pure joys my blifs create,
Who but would fmile at guilty state?
Who but would with his holy lot
In calm Oblivion's humble grot?
Who but would caft his pomp away,
To take my staff and amice gray;
And to the world's tumultuous ftage
Prefer the blameless hermitage?

§ 63. Monody, written near Stratford p Avon. T. WARTON.

AVON, thy rural views, thy pastures wild,

The willows that o'erhang thy twilight edge, Their boughs entangling with th' embattled fedge;

Thy brink with wat'ry foliage quaintly fring'd,
Thy furface with reflected verdure ting'd,
Sooth me with many a penfive pleasure mild.
But while I mufe, that here the bard divine
Whofe facred duft yon high-arch'd aifles inclofe,
Where the tall windows rife in ftately rows
Above th' embow'ring fhade,

Here firft, at Fancy's fairy-circled shrine,
Of daifies pied his infant off'ring made;
Here playful yet, in tripling years unripe,
Fram'd of thy reeds a thrill and artless pipe :
Sudden thy beauties, Avon, all are fled,
As at the waving of fome magic wand;
An holy trance my charmed fpirit wings,
And awful thapes of warriors and of kings
People the bufy mead,

Like fpe&res fwarining to the wizard's hall;
And flowly pace, and point with trembling hand
The wounds ill-cover'd by the purple pail.
Before me Pity feems to stand

A weeping mourner, fmote with anguish fore,
To fee Misfortune rend in frantic mood
His robe with regal woes embroider'd o'er.
Pale Terror leads the vifionary band,

And sternly shakes his fceptre, dropping blood.

§ 64. On the Death of King George the Second. T. WARTON So ftream the forrows that embalm the brave, The tears that Science fheds on Glory's grave!

Se