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The martial thrunder's rage in vain the nood, I see the sable-suited prince advance,
Edward. The inuses in von cloister's fbade Ye fretted pinnacles, ye fanis lublinie, Bound on his maiden thigh the martial blade: Ye tow'rs that wear the motly veil of tinc ! Bade him the steel for Britith freedom draw; Ye maliy piles of old munilicence,
And Oxford taught the deeds that Crefly saw. At once the pride of learning and defence ; And see, great father of the sacred band, Ye cloysters pale, that lengih’ning to the light, The * Patriot King before me lecins to stand ! To conteinplation, step by step, invite ! (clear He, by the bloom of this gay vale beguild, Ye higti-arch'd walks, where oft the whitpers That cheer'd with lively green the thaggy wild, Of harps unfcen have livept the poet's ear!. Hither of vore, forlorn, forgotten maid, Ye temples diin, where pious duty pays
The Mufe in prattling infancy convey'd; Her holy hymns of ever-echoing praise ! From Vandal jaye the helpleis virgin bore, Lo! your lov'd Ilis, from the bordring vale, And fix'd her crade on my friendly thore ; Wrh all a mother's fondness bids you hail!-- Soon grew the maid beneath his fost'ring hand, Hail, Oxford, haill of all that's gond and great, Soon Itream'd her bleflings o'er the enlightend Of all that's fair, the guardian and the feat!
land. Nurse of each brave pursuit, each gen’ious aim, Tho' sinple was the dome, where first to devel! By truth exalted to the throne of faine !
She deign'd, and rude her early Saxon cell, Like Grecce in science and in liberty,
Lo! now she holds her state in sculptur'd baw'rs, As Athens learn'd, as Lacedemon free!
And proudly lifts to heav'n her hundred tow'rs. Evin now confefs'd to my aduring eyes,
'Twas Alfred first, with letters and with laws, In awful ranks thy gifted fons arise.
Adern'd, as he advanc'd, his country's cause : Inning to knightly tale his British reeds, He bade relent the Briton's stubborn soul, Thy genuine bards iminortal Chaucer leads : And sooth'd to foft fociety's controul His hoary head o’erlooks the gazing quire, A rough untutor'd age. With raptur'd eye, And beams on all around celestial tire.
Elate, he views his laureld progeny: With graceful step fee Addison allvance,
Serene he smiles to find, that not in vain The sweetest child of Auic elegance :
He forin'd the rudiments of learning's reign: See Chillingworth the depths of doubt explore, Himself he marks in each ingenuous breast, And Selden ope the rolls of ancient lore :
With all the founder in the race exprest; To all but his belov'd embrace deny'd,
Conscious he sees fair freedom still survive See Locke lead Rcafon, his majestic bride :
In yon bright domes, ill-fated fugitive! See Hamıond pierce Religion's golden mine, (Glorious, as when the goddess pour'd the bcam And spread the treasur'd stores of Truth divine.' Unfully'd on his ancient diadem) All who to Albion gave the arts of peace,
Well-pleas'd, that at his own Pierian fprings And bleft the labours plann'd of letter'd cale;
She rests her weary feet, and plumes her wings; Who taught with truth, or with persuasion mov'd, That here at last the takes her destin'd ftand, Who footh'd with numbers, or with fense in. Here deigns to linger ere she leaves the land.
in Warruickshire. T. WARTON.
I foothe to peace my pensive mind :
And, while to thade my lowly cave, And on the Gothic gloom of flavith rivay
Einiow'ring elms their umbrage wave ; To thed the dawn of intellectual day.
And while the inapple dish is mine, With mild debate each muling featurc glows,
The becchen cup, unttain'd with wine :
I fcorn the gay licentious crowd,
Nor all the tasks of thoughtful peace engage, Here hopes in safe repose to dwell, 'Tis thine to form the hero as the sage, Nor aughi ruspects the fylvan cell.
Ac morn I take my custom'd round,
the vows which classic duty pays To mark how buds yon fhrubby mound;
To bless another Brunswick's rising rays ! And ev'ry op'ning primrose count
O Pitt, if chosen strains have pow'r to steal That crimly paints my blooming mount: Thy watchful breast a while from Britain's wcal Or o'er the sculptures, quaint and rude, If votive verte, from facred Ifis fent, That grace my gloomy folitude,
Might hope to charin 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.
Yes, guide and guardian of the country's cause'
Thy conscious heart shall hail with just applaufe Of martyrs, crown'd with heav'nly meed : Then, as my taper waxes dim,
The duteous Mufe, whose haste officious brings Chaunt, ere 'I sleep, my measur'd hymn;
Her blameless off'ring to the thrine of kings: And, at the close, the gleams behold
Thy tongue, well-tutor'd in hiftoric lore, Of parting wings bedropt with gold.
Can speak her office and her use of yore:
For such 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 ctüirn; In calıp Oblivion's humble grot?
When virtuous Pindar told, with Tuscan gore Who but would cast his pomp away,
How Icepter'd Hiëro Itain'd Sicilia's fhore, To take my 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 reposid : Prefer the blameless hermitage?
Yet ftill beneath the throne, unbrib'd, the fat
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 that o'erhang thy twilight edge, With truth severe she teinper’d partial praill;
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 watry foliage quaintly fring’d,
And sure, if e'er the muto 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 theme of triumph own But while I mufe, that here the bard divine, Whose facred dust yon high-arch'd ailes inclose, At whose firm base thy liedfast foul atpires
So dear a frame as Gcorge's troplıy'd throne ? Where the tall window's rise in stately rows
To wake a mighty nation's ancient tires : Above th'embow'ring shade,
Aspires to bafile Faction's specious claiin, Here first, at Fancy's fairy circled shrine,
Rouze England's sage, and give her thunder aim: Of daisies py'd his infant off ring made;
Once more the main her conqu’ring banners Here playful yet, in ftripling years unripe,
sweep, Fram'd of thy reeds a Mirill and artless pipe:
Again her Commerce darkens all the deep. Sudden thy beauties, Avon, all are fled,
Thy fix'd refolve renews 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,
Call'd by thy voice, nor deaf to war's alarins, 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 fowly pace, and point with treinbling 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 indolent debate, A weeping mourner, smote with anguish fore,
The war of words, the fophiftrics of state : To sec Misfortune rend in frantic mood
Nor frigid caution checks thy free design,. His robe with regal wocs embroider'd o'er.
Nor stops thy streain of eloquence divine : Pale Terror leads the visionary band,
For thine the privilege, on few bestow'd, And sternly shakes his fceptre, dropping blood.
To fecl, to think, to speak, for public good.
In vain Corruption calls her venal tribes; $61. On the Death of King George the Second. Nor fear nor fraud, nor spares or sercuns the foe,
One common cause one common end prescribes :
T. WARTON. But spirit pronipts, and valour strikes the blow. Softream the forrows 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,
Ilis congenial greets thy faithful fway,
Heroic champions caught the clarion's call, Nor scorns to bid a statesman grace her lay. And throng'd the feast in Edward's banner'd hall; For 'tis not hers, by falte connections drawn, While chiefs, like George, approv'd in worth Al fplendid Slav'ry's fordid thrine 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 sivay, 'Tis not for her to purchale or pursue
What fertile fields her temp’rate súns display! The phantom-favours of the cringing crew: Where Property secures the conscious (wain, More useful toils her studious hours enagage, And guards, while Plenty gives, the golden grain : And fairer lessons fill her sporless 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 darklome 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 stretch'd the social hand On ev'ry coast her vengeful lightnings gleam! To form, diftafe, and fix, her high command: Meantime, remote from Ruin's armed hand, From kings she claim'd, yet fcorn' co teek, the In peaceful majesty her cities ftand; prize;
[wife. Whofe fplendid domes and busy streets declare From kings, like George, benignant, just, and Their firmest fort, a king's parental care.
Lo! this her genuine lore. Nor thou refute 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 calın Bow'r *, which nurs'd thy Here Poely, 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-longs her solemo fpirit breath'd : Beam'd in full radiance on thy musing eye ; While cunning Bards at ancient banquets fung That form, whose mien sublime, with equal awe, Of paynım foes defy'd, and trophies hung. In the same shade unblemish'd Somers law : 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 faye Harrington to feign Nature's unbounded portrait Shakespeare drew: The bleilings of her visionary reign ;
But chief the dreadful group of human woes That reign, which now no more an empty theme, The daring artist's tragic pencil chose; Adorns Philosophy's ideal drcain,
Explor'd the pangs that rend the royal breast, But crowns at last, beneath a George's sinile, Thore wounds that lurk beneath the riffu'd veft! In full reality this favour'd ille.
Lo! this the land, whence Milton's muse of fire
And told the golden ries of wedded love § 62. On the Marriage of the King, 1961, 10 In sacred Eden's amaranthine grove. her Majesty. T. WARTON.
Thine too, majestic Bride, the favour'd climé,
Where Science fits enshrin'd in roofs sublime, WHEN first the kingdom, to thy virtues due, o mark, how green
her wood of ancient bays Rose from the billowy deep in distant view; O'er Iris’ marge in many a chaplet strays ! When Albion's ifle, old Ocean's peerless pride, Thither, if haply some distinguish'd flow'r Tow'r'd in imperial state above the ride; Of these mix'd blooms from that ambrosial 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 seemiy 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. Pleas'd in the muse's nook, with decent pride, Here patriot Alfred, stain'd:with Davish 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 flame 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 fav'rite race ! Here Chivalry, stern-school of valour old, But tho' the gen'rous inle, in arts and arms, Her.nobielt féats of knightly fame cnrollid; Thus stands Tupreme in Nature's choicest charms;
Trinity College, Oxford; in which alfo Lord Somers and Sir James Harrington, author of the Oceana, were clucated.
Tho' George and Conquest guard her sea-gire | Nor shunn'd, at pensive eve, with lonesome pace, throne,
The cloister's moon-light chequer'd Hoor to trace ; One happier blessing still she 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 bavs.
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 inftallation at Windfor, in the When now no dangers of the dreadful day same year.
Mar the bright scene, nor break the firm array
Full oft, too rashly glows with fond delight IMPERIAL Dome of Edward, wife and
braver! The youthful breaft, and asks the future fight; Where warlike Honour's brightest banners Nor knows that Horror's form, a spectre wan,
wave; At whose proud Tilts, unmatch’d for 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
Of fpecious fame thy ftedfast feet betray! Tho' now no more thy crested chiefs advance
Be thine domestic glory's radiant calm, In arm'd array, nor grasp the glitt'ring lance;
Be thine the sceptre wreath'd with inany a palm! Tho' Knighthood boasts the martial pomp no
Be thine the throne with peaceful crblems huny,
The silver lyre to milder conqucft ftrung! That grac'd its gorgeous festivals of yore; Say, conscious Doine, if e'er thy marthallid Bid rising Arts ditplay their mimic charms !
Instead of glorious feats atchiev'd in arms, knights So nobly deck'd their old majestic rices
Just to thy country's faine, in tranquil' days As when, high-thron’d amid thy troply'd thrine, Before the public eve, in breathing brals,
Record the past, and rouze to future praise : George Phone the leader of the Garter'd line? Yet future triumphs, Windsor, still remain ;
Bid thy fam'd Father's mighty rriumph pass:.
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 lifted comhats loft! In life's fresh spring, ere buds the promis'd prime,
Froin Arthur's board, no more, proud castle, His thoughts thall mount to virtue's meed subliine: Advent'rous Valour's Gothic trophies torn: The patriot fire shall catch, with fure presage,
Thofe eltin charins that held in inagic night Each lib'ral omen of his op'ning age;
Its elder Faine, and dium'd its genuine light, Then to thy courts shall Icad with conscious joy, At length diffolve in Truth's meridian ray, In ftripling beauty's bloom, the Princely Boy; There firmly wreathe the Braid of heav'nly die, And the bright Order bursts to perfect day: True valour's badge, around his tender thigh.
mystic round, begirt with bolder peers,
On Virtue's base its rescu'd glory rears:
Secs Civil Prowess mightier acts atchieve;
Sees meek Humanity distress relicve; In the young Champion's musing mind thall raise
Adopts the worth that bids the conflict cease, Vast images of Albion's elder days;
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 roils;
N this my penfive pillow, gentle Sleep! Amid the duky trappings hung on high,
Defcend, in all thy downy plumage drift: Young Elvud's fable mail fhall ftrike his eye: Wipcovith thy wing these eyes that wake to keep, Shall Äre the youth, to crown his riper years
And place thy crown of poppies on iny breall.
O steep my senses in oblivion's balm,
And sooth my throbbing pulse with lenient land,
This tempest of my boiling blood becalın
Despair grows mild at thy lupreine coininánde!
I seek livcet (lumber, while that virgin bloom The royal nursing unreluctant bore;
For ever hor'ring, haunts thy wrctobed ligh!
Nor would the dawning day my sorrows | $ 66. 'Odé. The First of April. T. WARTOX.
charm: Black midnight and the radiant noon, alike
WITH dalliance rude young Zephyr woes To me appear, while with uplifted arm
Coy May. Full oft with kind excuse
The boilt'rous boy the fair denies, Death stands prepar’d, but still delays to strike. Or, with a scornful smile complies.
Mindful of disaster past,
And thrinking at the northern blast, $65. The Humlet, written in Whichwood Forest. The sleety storm returning till,
The morning hoar and cv'ning chill;
Reluctant comes the timid Spring. THE hinds how blest, who ne'er beguild.
Scarce a bee, with airy ring, To quit their hamlet's hawthorn-wild;
Murmurs the blossom'd boughs around, Nor haunt the crowd, nor tempt the main,
That clothe the garden's fouthern bound: For splendid care and guilty gain!
Scarce a fickly firaggling flow'r When morning's twilight-tinctur'd beam
Decks the rough castle's rifted tow'r : Strikes their low thatch with llanting gleam,
Scarce the hardy primrose peeps They rove abroad in ether blue,
From the dark dell's entangled steeps : To dip the scythe in fragrant dew:
O'er the field of waving bronm The meaf to bind, the beech to fell,
Slowly shoots the golden bloom : That nodding shades a craggy dell.
And, but by fits the furze-clad dale
Tinctures the transitory gale.
Of Flora's brightest 'broid'ry shone,
Ev'ry chequer'd charm is flown; In their lone haunts and woodland rounds
Save that the lilac hangs to view
Its bursting gems in clusters blue.
Scant along the ridgy land
Thc bcans their new-born ranks expand :
The fresh-turn'd foil with tender blades Of Solitude's fequefter'd store.
Thinly the sprouting barley shades: For them the moon, with cloudless ray, Fringing the forest's devious edge, Mounts, to illume their hoineward way: Half-rob'd appears
the hawthorn hedge; Their weary spirits to relieve,
Or to the distant eye displays The meadow's incense breathe at eve.
Weakly green its budding sprays. No riot mars the simple fare
The swallow, for a moinent seen, That o'er a glimm'ring hearth they share: Skims in haste the village green: But when the curfeu's measur'd roar
From the grey moor on feeble wing, Duly, the dark’ning vallies o'er,
The screaming plovers idly spring : Has echo'd from the distant town,
The butterfly, gay-painted soon, They with no beds of cygnet-down,
Explores a while the tepid noon, No trophy'd canopics, to close
And fondly trusts its tender dies
To fickle luns and flatt'ring skies.
If a c!oud should haply lowr,
Sailing o'er the landscape dark, Or gambol in the new-inown hay;
Mute on a sudden is the lark; Or quaintly braid the cowslip-twine,
But when gleams the sun again Or drive aheld the tardy kine;
O'er the pearl-besprinkled plain, Or hasten from the sultry hill
And from behind his wat'ry veil To loiter at the shady rill;
Looks thro' the thin descending hail, Or climb the tall pinc's gloomy crest
She mounts, and, less'ning to the fight, To rob the raven's ancient nett.
Salutes the blythe return of light, Their humble porch with honied Aow'rs And high her tuneful track pursues The curling woodbine's shade embow'rs: 'Mid the dim rainbow's scatter'd hues. From the trim garden's thymy mound
Where in vencrable rows Their bees in busy swarms resound:
Widely-waving oaks inclose Nor fell Difeafe, before his time,
The moat of yonder antique hall, Hastes to consume life's golden prime:
Swarm the rooks with clainorous call; But when their temples long have wore
And to the toils of nature true, The silver crown of tresses hoar;
Wreath their capacious nests anew. As ftudious still calin peace to keep,
Musing thro' the lawny park, Beneath a Pow'ry turf they sleep.
The lonely poet loves to mark