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LINES SPOKEN IN THE THEATRE, OXFORD, oN LoRD GRENVILLE’s INSTALLATION

As chan CELLOR.

YE viewless guardians of these sacred shades,
Dear dreams of early song, Aonian maids!—
And you, illustrious dead, whose spirits speak
In every flush that tints the student’s cheek,
As, wearied with the world, he seeks again
The page of better times and greater men;
If with pure worship we your steps pursue,
And youth, and health, and rest forget for you,
(Whom most we serve, to whom our lamp burns
bright
Through the long toils of not ingrateful night,)
Yet, yet be present.—Let the worldly train
Mock our cheap joys, and hate our useless strain.
Intent on freighted wealth, or proud to rear
The fleece Iberian or the pampered steer;-
Let sterner science with unwearied eye
Explore the circling spheres and map the sky;
His long-drawn mole let lordly commerce scan,

LoRD GRENVILLE's INSTALLATION. 59

And of his iron arch the rainbow span:
Yet, while in burning characters impressed,
The poet’s lesson stamps the youthful breast,
Bids the rapt boy o'er suffering virtue bleed,
Adore a brave or bless a gentle deed,
And in warm feeling from the storied page
Arise the saint, the hero, or the sage;
Such be our toil l—Nor doubt we to explore
The thorny maze of dialectic lore,
To climb the chariot of the gods, or scan
The secret workings of the soul of man ;
Upborne aloft on Plato's eagle flight,
Or the slow pinion of the Stagyrite ;
And those gray spoils of Herculanean pride,
If aught of yet untasted sweets they hide;
If Padua's sage be there, or art have power
To wake Menander from his secret bower;
Such be our toil'—Nor vain the labor proves,
Which Oxford honors, and which Grenville loves.
—On, eloquent and firm —whose warning high
Rebuked the rising surge of anarchy,
When, like those brethren stars to seamen known,
In kindred splendor Pitt and Grenville shone;
On in thy glorious course; not yet the wave
Has ceased to lash the shore, nor storm forgot to
rave.
Go on ; and O, while adverse factions raise
To thy pure worth involuntary praise ;

60 LoRD GRENVILLE’s INSTALLATIon.

While Gambia's swarthy tribes thy mercies bless,
And from thy counsels date their happiness;
Say, (for thine Isis yet recalls with pride
Thy youthful triumphs by her leafy side,)
Say, hast thou scorned, 'mid pomp, and wealth,
and power,
The sober transports of a studious hour 2–
No, statesman, no l—thy patriot fire was fed
From the warm embers of the mighty dead;
And thy strong spirit's patient grasp combined
The souls of ages in a single mind.
—By arts like these, amidst a world of foes,
Eye of the earth, th’ Athenian glory rose;—
Thus, last and best of Romans, Brutus shone;
Our Somers thus, and thus our Clarendon;
Such Cobham was ;-such, Grenville, long be
thou,
Our boast before—our chief and champion now.

EPITAPH ON A YOUNG NAVAL
OFFICER,

DESIGNED Fort A. to MB IN A SEA Port Town

In Nort'TH WALES.

SAILoR, if vigor nerve thy frame,
If to high deeds thy soul is strung,

Revere this stone, that gives to fame
The brave, the virtuous, and the young.

For manly beauty decked his form,
His bright eye beamed with mental power;

Resistless as the winter storm,
Yet mild as summer’s mildest shower.

In war's hoarse rage, in ocean's strife,
For skill, for force, for mercy known ;

Still prompt to shield a comrade's life,
And greatly careless of his own.

Yet, youthful seaman, mourn not thou
The fate these artless lines recall;

No, Cambrian, no, be thine the vow,
Like him to live, like him to fall.

But hast thou known a father's care, Who sorrowing sent thee forth to sea;

Poured for thy weal the unceasing prayer, And thought, the sleepless night, on thee

Has eler thy tender fancy flown,
When winds were strong and waves were
high,
Where, listening to the tempest’s moan,
Thy sisters heaved the anxious sigh 2

Or in the darkest hour of dread,
*Mid war’s wild din, and ocean's swell,

Hast mourned a hero brother dead,
And did that brother love thee well ?

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