In fome lone cloister's melancholy shade,
Where a firm few support her fickly head,
Defpis'd, infulted by the barb'rous train,
Who fcour like Thracia's moon-ftruck rout the plain,
Sworn foes like them to all the Muse approves,
All Phœbus favours, or Minerva loves.

Are these the fons my foft'ring breast must rear,
Grac'd with my name, and nurtur'd by my care?
Must these go forth from my maternal hand
To deal their infults thro' a peaceful land,
And boast while Freedom bleeds, and Virtue groans,
That" ISIS taught Rebellion to her Sons ?"
Forbid it heaven! and let my rising waves
Indignant fwell, and whelm the recreant flaves!
In England's caufe their patriot floods employ,
As Xanthus delug'd in the cause of Troy.
Is this deny'd then point some secret way
Where far far hence these guiltless streams may stray;
Some unknown channel lend, where nature spreads
Inglorious vales, and unfrequented meads,

There, where a Hind fcarce tunes his ruftic ftrain,
Where scarce a Pilgrim treads the pathless plain,
Content I'll flow; forget that e'er my tide
Saw yon majestic structures crown it's fide;
Forget, that e'er my rapt attention hung
Or on the Sage's or the Poet's tongue;
Calm and refign'd my humbler lot embrace,
And pleas'd, prefer oblivion to disgrace.

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,
Was wove the Delphic laurel's verdant bough.

As the smooth furface of the dimply flood
The filver-flipper'd ISIS lightly trod,

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
To blot the beauties of thy whiter page;
A rage that fullies e'en thy guiltless lays,
And blasts the vernal bloom of half thy bays.

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
Still nor enjoys, nor asks the smile of pow'r.
Tho' wakeful Vengeance watch my chrystal spring,
Tho' perfecution wave her iron wing,

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
peace
See Science walks with freshest chaplets crown'd;
With fongs of joy my feftal groves refound;
My Mufe divine ftill keeps her wonted state,
The front erect, and high majestic gait :
Green as of old each oliv'd portal smiles,
And ftill the Graces build my Parian piles;
My Gothic fpires in ancient grandeur rife,
And dare with wonted pride to rush into the skies.
Ah fhould't thou fall (forbid it heav'nly pow'rs!)
Dafh'd into duft with all thy cloud-capt tow'rs;
Who but would mourn to British virtue dear,
What patriot could refufe the manly tear!
What British MARIUS could refrain to weep
O'er mighty CARTHAGE fall'n, a proftrate heap!
E'en late when RADCLIFFE's delegated train
Aufpicious fhone in ISIS' happy plain;

When yon proud * dome, fair Learning's ampleft fhrine,

Beneath it's Attic roofs receiv'd the Nine;
Mute was the voice of joy and loud applause,
To RADCLIFFE due, and ISIS' honour'd cause?
What free-born crouds adorn'd the festive day,
Nor blufh'd to wear my tributary bay!

* RADCLIFFE's library.