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founder of King's, the latter the greatest benefactor

The insect youth are on the wing,

Where willowy Camus lingers with delight!
Eager to taste the lonied spring,

Oft at the blush of dawn
And float amid the liquid noon :

I trod your level lawn,
Some lightly o'er the current skim,

Oft woo'd the glearn of Cynthia silver-bright
Some show their gayly-gilded trim

In cloisters dim, far from the haunts of Folls,
Quick-glancing to the Sun.

With Freedom by my side, and soft-ey'd Mela.

To Contemplation's sober eye
Such is the race of man :

But hark! the portals sound, and pacing forth
And they that creep, and they that fly,

With solemn steps and slow,
Shall end where they began.

High potentates and dames of royal birth,
Alike the busy and the gay

And mitred fathers in long order go:
But flutter through life's little day,

Great Edward, with the lilies on his brow,
In Fortune's varying colours drest : From haughty Gallia torn,
Brush'd by the hand of rough Mischance; And sad Chatillon t, on her bridal morn
Or chill'd by Age, their airy dance

That wept her bleeding love, and princely Clare;
They leave in dust to rest.

And Anjou's ş heroine, and the paler rose,

The rival of her crown and of her woes,
Methinks I hear in accents low

And either Henry ( there,
The sportive kind reply ;

The murder'd saint, and the majestic lord, “ Poor moralist ! and what art thou?

That broke the bonds of Rome.
A solitary fly!

(Their tears, their little triumphs o'er, Thy joys no glittering female meets,

Their human passions now no more,
No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets,

Save Charity, that glows beyond the tomb),
No painted plumage to display:

All that on Granta's fruitful plain
On hasty wings thy youth is flown :

Rich streams of regal bounty pour'd,
Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone-

And bade these aweful fanes and turrets rise,
We frolic while 't is May.'

To hail their Fitzroy's festal morning come;
And thus they speak in soft accord
The liquid language of the skies.

“ What is grandeur, what is power?

Heavier toil, superior pain.

What the bright reward we gain?
PERFORMED IN THE SENATE-HOUSE AT CAMBRIDGE, The grateful memory of the good.

JULY 1. 1769, AT THE INSTALLATION OF His Sweet is the breath of vernal shower,
GRACE AUGUSTUS-HENRY-FITZROY, DUKE OF GRAF- The bee's collected treasure's sweet,

Sweet music's melting fall, but sweeter fet

The still small voice of Gratitude." “ Hence, avaunt, ('t is holy ground,) Comus and his midnight-crew,

* Edward the Third; who added the fleurAnd Ignorance with looks profound,

lis of France to the arms of England. He founkel And dreaming Sloth of pallid hue,

Trinity College.
Mad Sedition's cry profane,
Servitude that hugs her chain,

+ Mary de Valentia, Countess of Pembroke Nor in these consecrated bowers

daughter of Guy de Chatillon, Comte de St Paul Let painted Flattery hide her serpent-train in flowers. band, Audemar de Valentia, Earl of Pembroke,

in France : of whom tradition says, that her be Nor Envy base, nor creeping Gain, Dare the Muse's walk to stain,

slain' at a tournament on the day of his nuptials While bright-ey'd Science watches round:

She was the foundress of Pembroke College of Hence, away, 't is holy ground !”

Hall, under the name of Aula Mariæ de l'alenci

. From yonder realms of empyrean day

Elizabeth de Burg, Countess of Clare, es wife of John de Burg, son

and heir of the Farbe Bursts on my ear th' indignant lay :

Ulster, and daughter of Gilbert de Clare, Earl of There sit the sainted sage, the bard divine,

Gloucester, by Joan of Acres, daughter of Edward The few, whom genius gave to shine

the First. Hence the poet gives her the epithet of Through every unborn age and undiscover'd clime. princely. She founded Clare-Hall. Rapt in celestial transport they, Yet hither oft a glance from high

§ Margaret of Anjou, wife of Henry the Sist, They send of tender sympathy

foundress of Queen's College. The poet had este To bless the place, where on their opening soul brated her conjugal fidelity in a former ode. First the genuine ardour stole. 'T was Milton struck the deep-ton'd shell,

| Elizabeth Widville, wife of Edward the Fourth And, as the choral warblings round him swell,

(hence called the paler rose, as being of the house Meek Newton's self bends from his state sublime,

of York). She added to the foundation of MarAnd nods his hoary head, and listens to the rhyme.

garet of Anjou.

Henry the Sixth and Eighth. The former the “ Ye brown o'er-arching groves, That Contemplation loves,

to Trinity College.

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Foremost and leaning from her golden cloud The venerable Marg'ret • see!

Welcome, my noble son,” she cries aloud, . * To this, thy kindred train, and me: Pleas'd in thy lineaments we trace A Tudor's t fire, a Beaufort's grace. Thy liberal heart, thy judging eye, l'he flower unheeded shall descry, And bid it round Heaven's altars shed Che fragrance of its blushing head : Shall raise from Earth the latent gem, To glitter on the diadem.

The hapless nymph with wonder saw : A whisker first, and then a claw,

With many an ardent wish, She stretch'd in vain to reach the prize; What female heart can gold despise ?

What cat 's averse to fish?

Presumptuous maid! with looks intent

she stretch'd, again she bent, Nor knew the gulf between. (Malignant Fate sate by, and smild,) The slippery verge her feet beguild,

She tumbled headlong in.
Eight times emerging from the flood
She mew'd to every wat’ry god,

Some speedy aid to send.
No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr'd;
Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard,

A favourite has no friend !

'Lo, Granta waits to lead her blooming band. Not obvious, not obtrusive, she No vulgar praise, no venal incense flings; Nor dares with courtly tongue refin'd Profane thy inborn royalty of mind : She reveres herself and thee. With modest pride to grace thy youthful brow l'he laureat wreath, that Cecil | wore, she brings And to thy just, thy gentle hand submits the fasces of her sway, While spirits blest above and men below loin with glad voice the loud symphonious lay. Through the wild waves as they roar Vith watchful eye and dauntless mien Chy steady course of honour keep, Nor fear the rocks, nor seek the shore : l'he star of Brunswick smiles serene, And gilds the horrours of the deep."

From hence, ye beauties, undeceiv'd,
Know, one false step is ne'er retriev'd,

And be with caution bold.
Not all, that tempts your wandering eyes,
And heedless hearts, is lawful prize ;

Not all that glisters, gold.



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While some on earnest business bent

Their murmuring labours ply 'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint

To sweeten liberty;
Some bold adventurers disdain
The limits of their little reign,

And unknown regions dare descry:
Still as they run they look behind,
They hear a voice in every wind,

And snatch a fearful joy.

Yet ah ! why should they know their fate? Since sorrow never comes too late,

And happiness too swiftly flies. Thought would destroy their Paradise. No more; where ignorance is bliss,

'T is folly to be wise.



Gay Hope is theirs, by Fancy sed,

Less pleasing, when possest; The tear forgot as soon as shed,

The sunshine of the breast : Theirs buxom health, of rosy hue; Wild wit, invention ever new,

And lively cheer of vigour born; The thoughtless day, the easy night, The spirits pure, the slumbers light,

That Ay th' approach of morn.
Alas, regardless of their doom,

The little victims play!
No sense have they of ills to come,

Nor care beyond to-day.
Yet see how all around them wait
The ministers of human fate,

And black Misfortune's baleful train, Ah, show them where in ambush stand To seize their prey, the murderous band !

Ah, tell them, they are men !

These shall the fury passions tear,

The vultures of the mind, Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear,

And Shame that skulks behind; Or pining Love, shall waste their youth, Or Jealousy, with rankling tooth,

That inly gnaws the secret heart, And Envy wan, and faded Care, Grim-visag'd comfortless Despair,

And Sorrow's piercing dart. Ambition this shall tempt to rise,

Then whirl the wretch from high, To bitter Scorn a sacrifice,

And grinning Infamy. The stings of Falsehood those shall try, And hard Unkindness' alter'd eye,

That mocks the tear it fore'd to flow; And keen Remorse, with blood defil'd, And moody Madness laughing wild

Amid severest woe,

I. “ Ruin seize thee, ruthless king! Confusion on thy banners wait! Though fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing, They mock the air with idle state. Helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail, Nor e'en thy virtues, tyrant, shall avail To save thy secret soul from nightly fears, From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears !" Such were the sounds, that o'er the crested pride Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay, As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side He wound with toilsome march his long array. Stout Glo'ster + stood aghast in speechless trance: To arms! cried Mortimer t, and couch'd his qui

vering lance. On a rock, whose haughty brow Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, Rob'd in the sable garb of woe, With haggard eyes the poet stood; (Loose bis beard, and hoary hair Stream'd, like a meteor, to the troubled air,) And with a master's hand, and prophet's fire, Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre. “ Hark, how each giant-oak, and desert care, Sighs to the torrent's aweful voice beneath! O'er thee, oh king! their hundred arms they Fare, Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe ; Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day, To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay. « Cold is Cadwallo's tongue, That hush'd the stormy main ; Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed : Mountains, ye mourn in vain Modred, whose magic song Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-top'd head On dreary Arvon's shore & they lie, Smear'd with gore, and ghastly pale : Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens sail : The famish'd eagle screams, and passes by. Dear lost companions of my tuneful art, Dear, as the light that visits these sad eyes, Dear, as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, Ye died amidst your dying country's cries

The hauberk was a texture of steel ringlets, or rings interwoven, forming a coat of mail, that st close to the body, and adapted itself to every motie.

+ Gilbert de Clare, surnamed the Red, Earl af Gloucester and Hertford, son-in-law to King Ed. ward.

+ Edmond de Mortimer, Lord of Wigmore.

Ś The hores of Caernarvonshire opposite to the Isle

Lo, in the vale of years beneath

A grisly troop are seen, The painful family of Death,

More hideous than their queen :
This racks the joints, this fires the veins,
That every labouring sinew strains,

Those in the deeper vitals rage:
Lo, Poverty, to fill the band,
That numbs the soul with icy hand,

And slow-consuming Age
To each his sufferings : all are men,

Condemn'd alike to groan;
The tender for another's pain,

The unfeeling for his own.


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No more I weep. They do not sleep. ; Revere his consort's * faith, his father's + fame, On yonder cliffs, a griesly band,

And spare the meek usurper's $ holy head.
I see them sit, they linger yet,

Above, below, the rose $ of snow,
Avengers of their native land:

Twin'd with her blushing foe we spread :
With me in dreadful harmony they join,

The bristled boar || in infant gore = And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line. Wallows beneath the thorny shade.

Now, brothers, bending o'er th' accursed loom, II.

Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom. * « Weave the warp, and weave the woof,

III. The winding-sheet of Edward's race:

" • Edward, lo! to sudden fate Give ample room, and verge enough

(Weave we the woof. The thread is spun.) The characters of Hell to trace.

Half of thy heart we consecrate. I Mark the year, and mark the night,

(The web is wove. The work is done.)' When Severn shall re-echo with affright (ring, Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn The shrieks of death, through Berkley's roofs that Leave me unbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn: Shrieks of an agonizing king;

In yon bright track, that fires the western skies, = She-wolf of France t, with unrelenting fangs, They melt, they vanish from my eyes.

That tears the bowels of thy mangled mate, But oh! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height i From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs Descending slow their glittering skirts unroll ? The scourge of Heaven. $ What terrours round Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! him wait!

Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul ! Amazement in his van, with Flight combin’d; No more our long-lost Arthur ** we bewail. [hail ! And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind. All-hail, ye genuine kings tt; Britannia's issue, “ • Mighty Victor, mighty Lord,

“ Girt with many a baron bold Low on his funeral couch he lies ! S

Sublime their starry fronts they rear ; No pitying heart, no eye, afford

And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old, A tear to grace his obsequies,

In bearded majesty, appear.
Is the sable warrior || fled ?

In the midst a form divine !
Thy son is gone. He rests among the dead. Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line;
The swarm, that in the noon-tide beam were born; Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face,
Gone to salute the rising Morn.

Attemper'd sweet to virgin-grace.
Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the Zephyr blows, What strings symphonious tremble in the air,
While proudly riding o'er the azure realm

What strains of vocal transport round her play; In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes ;

Hear from the grave, great Taliessin ft, hear; Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm; They breathe a soul to animate thy clay. Regardless of the sweeping Whirlwind's sway, Bright Rapture calls, and soaring, as she sings, That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening- Waves in the eye of Heaven her many-colour'd prey.

wings. u • Fill high the sparkling bowl,

* Margaret of Anjou, a woman of heroic spirit, The rich repast prepare :

who struggled hard to save her husband and her Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast : Close by the regal chair

+ Henry the Fifth. Fell Thirst and Famine scowl

| Henry the Sixth, very near being canonized. A baleful smile upon their baffled guest.

The line of Lancaster had no right of inheritance to Heard ye the din of battle bray ,

the crown. Lance to lance, and horse to horse?

$ The white and red roses, devices of York and Long years of havoc urge their destin'd course, Lancaster. And through the kindred squadrons mow their way.

|| The silver-boar was the badge of Richard the Ye towers of Julius **, London's lasting shame, Third; whence he was usually known in his own With many a foul and midnight murther fed, time by the name of The Boar.

Eleanor of Castile died a few years after the Edward the Second, cruelly butchered in conquest of Wales. The heroic proof she gave of Berkley castle.

her affection for her lord is well known. The mo+ Isabel of France, Edward the Second's adul- numents of his regret, and sorrow for the loss of terous queen.

her, are still to be seen at Northampton, Gedding+ Triumphs of Edward the Third in France. ton, Waltham, and other places.

Death of that king, abandoned by his children, ** It was the common belief of the Welsh nation, and even robbed in his last moments by his courtiers that King Arthur was still alive in Fairy-land, and and his mistress.

should return again to reign over Britain. || Edward the Black Prince, dead some time # Both Merlin and Taliessin had prophesied, before his father.

that the Welsh should regain their sovereignty over Ruinous civil wars of York and Lancaster. this island; which seemed to be accomplished in the ** Henry the Sixth, George Duke of Clarence, house of Tudor. Edward the Fifth, Richard Duke of York, &c. be 11 Taliessin, chief of the bards, flourished in the lieved to be murdered secretly in the Tower of sixth century. His works are still preserved, and London. The oldest part of that structure is vul- his memory held in high veneration among his garly attributed to Julius Cæsar.



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« The verse adorn again

Mista, black terrific maid, Fierce War, and faithful Love,

Sangrida, and Hilda, see, And Truth severe, by fairy Fiction drest.

Join the wayward work to aid : In buskin'd measures

'T is the woof of victory. Pale Grief, and pleasing Pain, With Horrour, tyrant of the throbbing breast.

Ere the ruddy Sun be set, A voice t, as of the cherub-choir,

Pikes must shiver, javelins sing, Gales from blooming Eden bear;

Blade with clattering buckler meet, And distant warblings † lessen on my car,

Hauberk crash, and helmet ring. That lost in long futurity expire. Fond impious man, think'st thou, yon sanguine (Weave the crimson web of war,) cloud,

Let us go, and let us fly, Rais’d by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of day? Where our friends the conflict share, To-morrow he repairs the golden flood,

Where they triumph, where they die. And warms the nations with redoubled ray. Enough for me: with joy I see

As the paths of Fate we tread, The different doom our Fates assign.

Wading through th' ensanguin'd field; Be thine Despair, and scepter'd Care:

Gondula, and Geira, spread To triumph, and to die, are mine."

O'er the youthful king your shield. He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height Deep in the roaring tide he plung'd to endless night. We the reins to Slaughter give,

Ours to kill, and ours to spare : Spite of danger he shall live :

(Weave the crimson web of war.) THE FATAL SISTERS. S

They, whom once the desert-beach

Pent within its bleak domain, Soon their ample sway shall stretch

O'er the plenty of the plain. (From the Norse-Tongue.]

Low the dauntless Earl is laid,

Gor'd with many a gaping wound: IN THE ORCADES OF THORMODUS TORFÆUS; HAFNIR, Fate demands a nobler head; 1697, FOLIO; AND ALSO IN BARTHOLINUS.

Soon a king shall bite the ground. Vitt er oprit fyrir valfalli, &c.

Long his loss shall Eirin weep,

Ne'er again his likeness see;
Now the storm begins to lour,

Long her strains in sorrow steep,
(Haste, the loom of Hell prepare,)

Strains of immortality!
Iron-sleet of arrowy shower
Hurtleş in the darken'd air.

Horrour covers all the heath,

Clouds of carnage blot the Sun. Glittering lances are the loom,

Sisters, weave the web of death;
Where the dusky warp we strain,

Sisters, cease, the work is done.
Weaving many a soldier's doom,
Orkney's woe, and Randver's bane.

Hail the task, and hail the hands!

Songs of joy and triumph sing! See the griesly texture grow,

Joy to the victorious bands ;
('T is.of human entrails made,)

Triumph to the younger king.
And the weights that play below,
Each a gasping warrior's head.

Mortal, thou that hear'st the tale,

Learn the tenour of our song. Shafts for shuttles, dipt in gore,

Scotland, through each winding vale
Shoot the trembling cords along;

Far and wide the notes prolong.
Sword, that once a monarch bore,
Keep the tissue close and strong.

Sisters, hence, with spurs of speed;

Each her thundering falchion wield; Shakspeare

Each bestride her sable steed: + Milton.

Hurry, hurry to the field. The succession of poets after Milton's time. Ś The Valkyriur were female divinities, servants of Odin (or Woden) in the Gothic mythology. Their name signifies choosers of the slain. They were mounted on swift horses, with drawn swords in their hands ; and in the throng of battle selected such as were destined to slaughter, and conducted them to Valkalla, the hall of Odin, or paradise of the brave; where they attended the banquet, and served the departed heroes with horns i of mead and ale.

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