In fome lone cloister's melancholy shade, Are these the fons my foft'ring breast must rear, There, where a Hind fcarce tunes his ruftic ftrain, O N clofing flow'rs when genial gales diffuse The fragrant tribute of refreshing dews; When chaunts the milk-maid at her balmy pail, And weary reapers whistle o'er the vale; Charm'd by the murmurs of the quiv'ring fhade, O'er ISIS' willow-fringed banks I ftray'd: And calmly mufing thro' the twilight way, In penfive mood I fram'd the Doric lay. When lo! from opening clouds a golden gleam Pour'd fudden splendours o'er the shadowy stream; And from the wave arose it's guardian queen, Known by her fweeping ftole of gloffy green; While in the coral crown, that bound her brow, As the smooth furface of the dimply flood From her loose 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 trifling ftrain of empty joy ; No more thy love-refounding fonnets fuit To notes of paft'ral pipe, or oaten flute. For hark! high-thron'd on yon majestic walls, To the dear Mufe afflicted Freedom calls: When Freedom calls, and OXFORD bids thee fing, Why ftays thy hand to ftrike the founding string? While thus, in Freedom's and in Phoebus' fpite, The venal fons of flavish CAM, unite; To shake yon tow'rs, when Malice rears her creft, Shall all my fons in filence idly rest? 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 address foft flattery's foothing lay. What tho' your gentle MASON's plaintive verse Has hung with sweetest wreath's MUSÆUS' hearse; What tho' your vaunted bard's ingenuous woe, Soft as my stream, in tuneful numbers flow? Yet ftrove his Mufe, by fame or envy led, To tear the laurels from a fifter's head ?- - - Misguided youth! with rude unclaffic rage Let GRANTA boaft the patrons of her name, Each pompous fool of fortune and of fame : Still of preferment let her fhine the queen, Prolific parent of each bowing dean: Be her's each prelate of the pamper'd cheek, Each courtly chaplain fanctify'd and fleek; Still let the drones of her exhaustless hive On fat pluralities fupinely thrive : Still let her fenates titled flaves revere, Nor dare to know the patriot from the peer; For tinfel'd courts their laurel'd mount despise, In ftars and ftrings fuperlatively wife : No longer charm'd by Virtue's golden lyre, Who fung of old, amid th' Aonian choir, Where CAM, flow winding thro' the breezy reeds, With kindly wave his groves of laurel feeds. "Tis ours, my fon, to deal the sacred bay, Where honour calls, and Justice points the way; To wear the well-earn'd wreath which merit brings. And snatch a gift beyond the reach of kings. Scorning, and scorn'd by courts, yon Mufes' bow'r H And o'er yon fpiry temples as fhe flies, "These destin'd feats be mine" exulting cries; On ISIS ftill each gift of fortune waits, my beauteous gates. Still and plenty deck When yon proud * dome, fair Learning's ampleft fhrine, Beneath it's Attic roofs receiv'd the Nine; * RADCLIFFE's library. |