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The martial thunder's rage in vain the stood,
With ev'ry conthiết of the formy flood;
More fure the reptile's little arts devour
Than wars, or waves, or Eurus' wint'ry pow'r.
Ye fretted pinnacles, ye fanes fublimie,
Ye tow'rs that wear the motly veit of time!
Ye mally piles of old muniticence,
At once the pride of learning and defence;
Ye cloyfters pale, that length'ning to the fight,
To contemplation, ftep by step, invite!
Ye high-arch'd walks, where oft the whiipers
Of harps unfeen have fwept the poet's ear!.
Ye temples diin, where pious duty pays
Her holy hymns of ever-echoing praife!
Lo! your lov'd Ins, from the bord'ring vale,
With all a mother's fondness 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!

I fee the fable-fuited prince advance,
With lilies crown'd, the fpoils of bleed
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 teems to ftand
He, by the bloom of this gay vale beguil'd,
That cheer'd with lively green the fhaggy wild,
Hither of yore, forlorn, forgotten maid,
The Mufe in prattling infancy convey'd;
From Vandal rage the helpleis virgin bore,
And fix'd her crade on my friendly shore;
Soon grew the maid beneath his foft'ring hand,
Soon ftream'd her bleffings o'er the enlighted
land.

Tho' funple was the dome, where first to dwell
She deign'd, and rude her early Saxon coll,
Lo! now the holds her state in fculptur'd boy
And proudly lifts to heav'n her hundred tow
'Twas Alfred firft, with letters and with laws,
Adorn'd, as he advanc'd, 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 breaft,
With all the founder in the race expreft;
Confcious he fees fair freedom ftill furvive
In yon bright dones, ill-fated fugitive!
(Glorious, as when the goddefs 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 last she takes her deftin'd ftand,
Here deigns to linger ere the leaves the land.

Ev'n now confefs'd to my adoring eyes,
In awful ranks thy gifted fons arife.
Taning 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 ftep 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 embrace deny'd,
See Locke lead Reafon, his majestic bride:
See Hammond pierce Religion's golden mine,
And fpread the treafur'd ftores of Truth divine.
All who to Albion gave the arts of peace,
And bleft the labours plann'd of letter'd cafe;
Who taught with truth, or with perfuafion mov'd,
Who footh'd with numbers, or with fenfe im-
prov'd;

Who rang'd the pow'rs of reafon, or refin'd
All that adorn'd or humaniz'd the mind;
Each prieft of health, that mix'd the balmy bowl
To rear frail man, and stay the fleeting foul;
All crowd around, and echoing to the sky,
Hail, Oxford, hail with filial tranfport cry.

And fee yon fapient train! with lib'ral aim,
Twas theirs new plans of liberty to frame;
And on the Gothic gloom of flavith fway
To thed the dawn of intellectual day.
With mild debate each muling feature glows,
And well-weigh'd counfels mark their meaning

brows.

$ 59. Infeription in a Hermitage, at Anfley-Hall, in Warwickshire. T. WARTON.

BENEATH this ftony roof reclin'd

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

"Lo! thefe the leaders of thy patriot line,"
A Raleigh, Hampden, 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, unextinguifh'd, and the fame!
Nor all the tasks of thoughtful peace engage,
Tis thine to form the hero as the fage,

At

Ac morn I take my custom'd round,

So pure the vows which classic duty pays To mark how buds yon fhrubby mound; To blets another Brunswick's rising rays ! And ev'ry op'ning primrose count

O Pitt, if chosen strains have pow'r to steal That trimly paints my blooming mount: Thy watchful breast a while from Britain's wealt Or o'er the sculptures, quaint and rude, If votive verse, from facred Ifis fent, . That grace my gloomy folitude,

Might hope to charın thy manly mind, intent I teach in winding wreaths to stray

On patriot plans which ancient Freedom drew, Fantastic ivy's gadding spray.

A while with fond attention deign to view At eve, within yon studious nook,

This ample wreath, which all th'assembled Nine

With skill united have conspir'd to twine.
I ope my brass embossed book,
Pourtray'd with many a holy deed

Yes,guide and guardian of thy country's cause' Of martyrs, crown'd with heav'nly meed :

Thy conscious heart thall hail with just applause

The duteous Muse, whose haste officious brings Then, as my taper waxes dim,

Her blameless off'ring to the thrine of kings: Chaunt, ere I Neep, my measur'd hymn; And, at the close, the gleams behold

Thy tongue, well-tutord in hiftoric lore, Of parting wings bedropt with gold.

Can speak her office and her use of yore:

For fuch the tribute of ingenuous praise While such pure joys my bliss create,

Her harp dispens'd in Grecia's golden days, Who but would smile at guilty state?

Such were the palms in isles of old renown, Who but would with his holy lot

She cull'd, to deck the guiltless monarch's croirn; In calm Oblivion's humble grot?

When virtuous Pindar told, with Tuscan gore Who but would cast his pomp away,

How Icepter'd Hiëro stain'd Sicilia's fore, To take iny staff and amice gray?

Or to mild Theron's raptur'd eye disclos'd And to the world's tumultuous stage

Bright vales, where fpirits of the brave repoy'd : Prefer the blameless hermitage?

Yet still beneath the throne, unbrib'd, the fat
The decent handmaid, not the slave of state;

Pleas'd in the radiance of the regal name, $ 60. Monody; written near Stratford upon To blend the luftre of her country's fame: Avon. T. WARTON.

For, taught like Ours, the dar'd with pruslene

Obedience from dependence to divide : [pride, AVON, thy rural views, thy pastures wild; The willows thato'erhang thy twilight edge, With truth severe the teinperd partial praile;

Tho' princes claim'd her tributary lays, Their boughs entangling with th’embattled Conscious, she kept her native dignity, sedge;

Bold as her fights, and as her numbers free. Thy brink with wat’rv foliage quaintly fring'd,

And sure, if e'er the mulu indulg'd her strains, Thy surface with reflected verdure tiog'd,

With just regard to grace heroic reigns, Sooth me with many a pensive pleasure mild.

Where could her glance a theine of triumph ows But while I muse, that here the bard divine, Whose facred dust yon high-arch'd ailes inclose, At whose firm base thy tiedfast foul afpires

So dear a frame as George's trophy'd throne ? Where the tall windows rise in stately rows

To wake a mighty nation's ancient fires : Above th'embow'ring shade,

Aspires to baffle Faction's specious claim, Here first, at Fancy's fairy circled shrine,

Rouze England's sage, and give her thunder aim : Of daisies py'd his infant offring made;

Once more the main her conqu’ring banners Here playful yet, in ftripling years unripe,

sweep, Fram'd of thy reeds a Ilirill and artless pipe:

Again her Commerce darkcns all the deep. Sudden thy beauties, Avon, all are fled,

Thy fix'd refolve reneivs each firm decrce As at the waving of some magic wand;

That made, that kept of yore, thy country free. An holy trance my charmed spirit wings,

Calld by thy voice, nor deaf to war’s alarıns, And awful shapes of warriors and of kings Its willing vouth the rural empire arms: People the busy mead,

Again the lords of Albion's cultur'd plains Like spectres swarming to the wizard's hall;

March the firin leaders of their faithful livains; And flowly pace, and point with trembling hand As erft ftout archers, from the farm of fold, The wounds ill-cover'd by the purple pall.

Flam'd in the van of many a baron bold. Before me Pity seems to stand

Nor thine the pomp of índolent debate, A weeping mourner, smote with anguish fore,

The war of words, the sophistics of state : To see Misfortune rend in frantic mood

Nor frigid caution checks thy free design,. His robe with regal wocs embroider'd o'er.

Nor stops thy ftrcain of eloquence divine : Pale Terror leads the visionary band,

For thine the privilege, on few bestow'd, And sternly shakes his sceptre, dropping blood.

To fccl, to think, to 1pcak, for public good.

In vain Corruption calls her venal tri Ses; $ 61. On the Death of King George the Second. Nor fear nor fraud, nor spares or sercuns the foc,

Onc common cause one common end prescribes :

T. WARTON. But Spirit prompts, and valour strikes the blow. Softream the sorrows that embalm the brave,

O Pitt! while honour points thy lib’ral plan, The tears that Science sheds on Glory's grave! And o'er the Minister exalts the mai,

lui:

Ilis congenial greets thy faithful fway,

Heroic champions caught the clarion's call, Nor fcorns to bid a statesman grace her lay. And throng'd the feaft in Edward's hanner'd hall; For 'tis not hers, by falte conne&tions drawn, While chiefs, like George, approy'd in worth At fplendid Slav'ry's fordid Ihrine to fawn;

alone, Each native effort of the feeling breast

Unlock'd chafte Beauty's adamantine zone. To friends, to foes, in equal fear, supprest: Lo! the fam'd ifle, which hails thy chofen sway, 'Tis not for her to purchase or pursue

What fertile fields her temp’rate súns display! The phantoin-favours of the cringing crew : Where Property secures the conscious swain, More useful toils her studious hours enagage, And guards, while Plenty gives, the golden graia: And fairer lessons fill her spotless page: Hence with ripe stores her villages abound, Beneath ambition, but above disgrace,

Her airy downs with scatter'd sheep resound; With nobler arts the forms the rising race : Fresh are her pastures with unceasing rills, With happier calks, and less refin’d pretence, And future navies crown her darksome hills. In elder times the woo'd Munificence

To bear her forinidable giory far, To rear her arched roofs in regal guise,

Behold her opulence of hoarded war! And lift her temples nearer to the skies; See, from her ports a thousand banners strean ; Princes and prelates ftretch'd the focial hand On ev'ry coaft her vengeful lightnings gleam! To form, difuse, and fix, her high command: Meantime, remote from Ruin's armed hand, From kings she claim’d, yet fcorn'd to leek, the In peaceful majesty her cities ftand; prize;

[wife. Whole splendid domes and busy streets declare From kings, like George, benignant, just, and Their firmest fort, a king's parental care.

Lo! this her genuine loré.-Nor thou refule And O! blest Queen, if e'er the magic pow'rs This humble present of no partial Mute

Of warbled truth have won thy musing hours; From that calm Bow's *, which nurs’d thy Here Pocły, from awful days of yore, thoughtful youth

Has pour'd her genuine gifts of saptur'd lore. In the pure precepts of Athenian truth: Mid oaken bow'rs, with holy verdure wreath'd, Where first the form of British Liberty In Druid-fongs her solemn spirit breath'd : Beam'd in full radiance on thy musing eye ; While cunning Bards at ancient banquets sung That form, whose mien sublime, with equal awe, Of paynım focs defy'd, and trophies hung. In the same shade unblemith'd Somers faw : Here Spenser tun'd'his mystic minstrelsy, Where once (for weil the lov'd the friendly grove And dress’d in fairy robes a Queen like Thee. Which ev'ry classic Grace had learn’d to rove) Here, boldly mark'd with ev'ry living hue, Her whispers wak'd saye Harrington to fcign Nature's unbounded portrait Shakespeare drew : The blejlings of her visionary reign ;

But chief the dreadful group of human woes That rcign, which now no more an empty theme, The daring artist's tragic pencil chose; Adorns Philosophy's ideal dreain,

Explor'd the paugs that rend the royal breast, But crowns at last, beneath a George's sinile, Thole wounds that lurk beneath the tissu'd veft! In full reality this favour'd ine.

Lo! this the land, whence Milton's mule of fire
High soar'd, to steal from heav'n a seraph's lyre;

And told the golden ties of wedded love
$ 62. On the Marriage of the King, 1961, 10 In facred Eden's amaranthine grove.
her Majesty. T. WARTON.

Thine too, majestic Bride, the favour'd clime,

Where Science fits enshrin'd in roofs sublime, WHEN irit the kingdom, to thy virtues due, o mark, how green her wood of ancient bays

Rose from the billowy deep in diftant view; O'er Ifis' marge in many a chaplet strays! When Albion's ifle, old Ocean's peerless pride, Thither, if haply some distinguish'd How'r Tow'r'd in imperial state above the ride; Of these mix'd blooms from that ambrofial bow'r, What bright ideas of the new domain

Might catch thy glance, and rich in Nature's hue, Forin'd the fair prospect of thy promis'd reign! Entwine thy diadem with honour due; And well with conscious joy thy breast might If seeiiy gifts the train of Phæbus pay, beat,

To deck imperial Hymen's festive day, That Albion was ordain'd thy regal feat: Thither thyself thall haste, and mildly deign Lo! this the land, where Freedom's facred rage To tread with nymph-like step the conscious plain; Has glow'd untam'd thro' many a martial age. Plcas'd in the muse's nook, with decent pride, Here patriot Alfred, stain'd:with Davith blood, To throw the scepter'd pall of state aside. Reard on one bale the king's, the people's good: Nor from the shade shall George be long away, Here Henry's archers fram'd the stubborn bow Which claims Charlotta's love, and courts her That laid Alanzon's haughty helmet low;

stay. Here wak'd the fiame that still fuperior braves These are Britannia's praises. Deign to trace The proudest threats of Gaul's ambitious Naves : With wrapt reflection Freedom's favirite rate ! Here Chivalry, ftern-school of valour old, But tho' the gen'rous isle, in arts and arms, Her nobiest feats of knightly fame enrolld; Thus stands fupreme in Nature's choicest charms;

Trinity College, Oxford; in which alfo Lord Somers and Sir Jarnes Harrington, author of the Oceana, were cllucaludo

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Tho' George and Conquest guard her sea-giit | Nor sunn'd, at pensive eve, with lonesome pace, throne,

The cloister's moon-light chequer'a Aoor to trace; One happier blessing still the calls her own; Nor (corn'd to mark the fun, at matins due, And, proud to cull the fairelt wreath of Fame, Stream thro' the story'd windows holy hue. Crowns her chief honours with a Charlotte's And 0, Young Prince, be thine his moral

praise; Nor seek in fields of blood his warrior bays.

War has its charms terrific. Far and wide $ 63. On the Birth of the Prince of Wales. When stands th’einbattled host in banner'd pride;

T. WARTON. O'er the next plain when the Thrill clangors run,

And the long phalanx fathes in the fun; Written after the installation at Windfor, in the When now no dangers of the dreadful day fame year.

Mar the bright scene, nor break the firm array;

Full oft, too rashly glows with fond delight Where warlike Honour's brightest banners Nor knows that Horror's form, a spectre wan,

; wave; At whose proud Tilts, unmatch'd fur hardy decds,

Stalks, yet unseen, along the gleamy van. Heroic kings have frown'd on barbed steeds:

May no such rage be thine! No dazzling ray Tho' now no more thy crested chiefs advance

Of fpecious fame thy stedfast feet betray !

Be thine domestic glory's radiant calm, In arm'd array, nor grasp the glittring lance;

Be thine the sceptre wreath'd with many a palm! Tho' Knighthood boasts the martial pomp no

Be thine the throne with peaceful erblems hung,

The filver lyre to milder conquest ftrung! That grac'd its gorgeous festivals of yore;

Instead of glorious feats archiev'd ja arms, Say, conscious Doine, if e’er thy marthallid Bid rising Arts display their mimic charms !

knights So nobly deck'd their old majestic rites

Just to thy country's faine, in tranquil' days As when, high-thron’d amid thy troply'd shrine, Before the public eve, in breathing brals,

Record the past, and rouze to future praise : George shone the leader of the Garter'd line?

Bid thy fam'd Father's mighty triumph pafs :. Yet future triumphs, Windfor, still remain ;

Swell the broad arch with haughty Cuba's fall, Still may thy bow'rs receive as brave a train : For lo! to Britain and her favour'd Pair,

And clothe with Minden's plain th’historic hall.

Then mourn not, Edward's Dome, thine anHeav'n's high command has sent a sacred Heir !

cient boast, Him the bold pattern of his patriot Sire Shall fill with early fame's immortal fire:

Thy tournaments and listed comhats loft!

Froin Arthur's board, no more, proud castle, In life's fresh spring, ere buds the promis'd prime, His thoughts thall mount to virtue's meed subliine: Advent'rous Valour's Gothic trophies torn: The patriot fire shall catch, with lure presage,

Those clfin charms that held in inagic night Each lib'ral omen of his op'ning age;

Its elder Faine, and dimm'd its genuine light, Then to thy courts shall Icad with conscious joy, At length diffolve in Truth's meridian ray, In stripling beauty's bloom, the Princely Boy; There firmly wreathe the Braid of heav'nly die, The myitic round, begirt with bolder pcers,

And the bright Order bursts to perfect day: True valour's badge, around his tender thigh.

On Virtue's base its rescu'd glory rears:
Meantime, thy royal piles that rise elate

Secs Civil Prowess mightier acts atchieve;
With many an antique tow'r, in mally state,
In the young Champion's musing mind thalı raise Sees meek Humanity distress relieve;
Vast images of Albion's elder days;

Adopts the worth that bids the conflict cease,

And claims its honours from the cliets of peace, While, as around his eager glance explores Thy chambers, rough with war's constructed

stores, Rude helms, and bruised shields, barbaric spoils

§ 64. Ode to Sleep. T. WARTON. Of ancient chivalry's undaunted toils; Amid the dusky trappings hung on high,

ON this my penfive pillow, gentle Sleep!

Defiend, in all thy downy plumage drest :: Young Elvud's fable mail fall frike his eye: Wipe vith thy wing these eyes that wake to seep, Shall fire the youth, to crown his riper years

And place thy crown of poppies on iny brcal. With rival Creslys, and a new Poitiers; On the same wall, the lame triumphal base,

O steep my senses in oblivion's balm, His own victorious monuments to place.

And footh mythrobbing pulle with lenient land, Nor can a fairer kindred title move

This tempeft of my boiling blood becalın His emulative age to glory's love

Despair grows mild at thy lupreine coininándo! Than Edward, laureate prince. In letter'd truth, Yet ah! in vain, familiar with the gloom, Oxford, fage inother, school'd his studious youth: And fadly toiling thro' the redious night, Her finple institutes and rigid lore

I seek livet slumber, while that virgin bloom The royal nursing unreluctant bore;

For ever hov'ring, haunts thy wretched fight

mourn

Nor would the dawning day my forrows | § 66. Ode. The First of April. T. WART

charm:

Flack midnight and the radiant noon, alike
To me appear, while with uplifted arm
Death ftands prepar'd, but still delays to strike.

$65. The Hamlet, written in Whichwood Foreft.

T. WARTON.

HE hinds how bleft, who ne'er beguil'd
To quit their hamlet's hawthorn-wild;
Nor haunt the crowd, nor tempt the main,
For fplendid care and guilty gain!

When morning's twilight-tinctur'd beam
Strikes their low thatch with flanting gleam,
They rove abroad in ether blue,
To dip the fcythe in fragrant dew:
The theaf to bind, the beech to fell,
That nodding shades a craggy dell.

'Midft gloomy glades, in warbles clear,
Wild nature's fweeteft notes they hear:
On green untrodden banks they view
The hyacinth's neglected hue:

In their lone haunts and woodland rounds
They fpy the fquirrel's airy bounds;
And startle from her afhen spray,
Acrofs the glen, the foreaming jay.
Each native charm their steps explore
Of Solitude's fequefter'd store.

For them the moon, with cloudlefs ray,
Mounts, to illume their homeward way:
Their weary fpirits to relieve,

The meadow's incenfe breathe at eve.
No riot mars the fimple fare

That o'er a glimm'ring hearth they fhare:
But when the curfeu's meafur'd roar
Duly, the dark'ning vallies o'er,
Has echo'd from the diftant town,
They with no beds of cygnet-down,
No trophy'd canopies, to clofe
Their drooping eyes in quick repose.

Their little fons, who spread the bloom
Of health around the clay-built room,
Or thro' the primros'd coppice ftray,
Or gambol in the new-inown hay;
Or quaintly braid the cowflip-twine,
Or drive afield the tardy kine;
Or haften from the fultry hill
To loiter at the fhady rill;

Or climb the tall pine's gloomy creft
To rob the raven's ancient neft.

Their humble porch with honied flow'rs
The curling woodbine's fhade embow'rs:
From the trim garden's thymy mound
Their bees in bufy fwarms refound:
Nor fell Difeafe, before his time,
Haftes to confume life's golden prime:
But when their temples long have wore
The filver crown of treffes hoar;
As ftudious ftill calm peace to keep,
Beneath a How'ry turf they sleep.

WITH dalliance rude young Zephyrex
Coy May. Full oft with kind excuir
The boift'rous boy the fair denies,
Or, with a scornful fmile complies.
Mindful of difafter past,

And fhrinking at the northern blast,
The fleety ftorm returning ftill,
Reluctant comes the timid Spring.
The morning hoar and ev'ning chill;
Scarce a bee, with airy ring,

Murmurs the bloffom'd boughs around,
That clothe the garden's fouthern bound:
Scarce a fickly ftraggling flow'r
Decks the rough caftle's rifted tow'r:
Scarce the hardy primrose peeps
From the dark dell's entangled steeps:
O'er the field of waving broom
Slowly fhoots the golden bloom:
And, but by fits the furze-clad dale
Tinctures the tranfitory gale.

While from the shrubb'ry's naked maze,
Where the vegetable blaze

Of Flora's brightest 'broid'ry fhone,
Ev'ry chequer'd charm is flown;
Save that the lilac hangs to view
Its bursting gems in clusters blue.
Scant along the ridgy land

The beans their new-born ranks expand:
The fresh-turn'd foil with tender blades
Thinly the fprouting barley fhades:
Fringing the foreft's devious edge,
Half-rob'd appears the hawthorn hedge;
Or to the diftant eye displays
Weakly green its budding sprays.

The swallow, for a moment feen,
Skims in hafte the village green :
From the grey moor on feeble wing,
The fcreaming plovers idly fpring:
The butterfly, gay-painted foon,
Explores a while the tepid noon,
And fondly trufts its tender dies
To fickle funs and flatt'ring fkies.

Fraught with a tranfient, frozen show'r,
If a cloud fhould haply lowr,
Sailing o'er the landscape dark,
Mute on a fudden is the lark;
But when gleams the fun again
O'er the pearl-befprinkled plain,
And from behind his wat❜ry veil
Looks thro' the thin defcending hail,
She mounts, and, leff'ning to the fight,
Salutes the blythe return of light,
And high her tuneful track pursues
'Mid the dim rainbow's scatter'd hues.
Where in venerable rows
Widely-waving oaks inclofe
The moat of yonder antique hall,
Swarm the rooks with clamorous call;
And to the toils of nature true,
Wreath their capacious nests anew.
Mufing thro' the lawny park,
The lonely poet loves to mark

How

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