In vain the thunder's martial rage she stood,
With each fierce conflict of the stormy flood;
More fure the reptile's little arts devour,
Than waves, or wars, or Eurus' wintry pow'r.
Ye venerable bow'rs, ye feats fublime,
Clad in the moffy veft of fleeting time;
Ye ftately piles of old munificence,
At once the pride of Learning and defence,
Where ancient Piety, a matron hoar,
Still feems to keep the hofpitable door;
Ye cloisters pale, that length'ning to the fight,
Still step by step to mufings mild invite;
Ye high-archt walks where oft the bard has caught
The glowing fentiment, the lofty thought;
Ye temples dim, where pious duty pays
Her holy hymns of ever-echoing praise ;
Lo! your lov'd ISIS, from the bord❜ring vale,
With all a mother's fondnefs bids you hail!
Hail, OXFORD, hail! of all that's good and great,
Of all that's fair, the guardian and the feat;
Nurfe of each brave purfuit, each generous aim,
By truth exalted to the throne of fame!
Like Greece in fcience and in liberty,
As Athens learn'd, as Lacedæmon free!
Ev'n now, confefs'd to my adoring eyes,
In awful ranks thy facred fons arise;
With ev'ry various flower their temples wreath'd,
That in thy gardens green its fragrance breath'd.
Tuning to knightly tale his British reeds,
Thy crouding bards immortal CHAUCER leads:
His hoary head o'erlooks the gazing choir,
And beams on all around celestial fire:
With graceful step see ADDISON advance,
The fweeteft child of Attic Elegance:
To all, but his belov'd embrace deny'd,
See LOCKE leads reason, his majestic bride :
See facred HAMMOND, as he treads the field,
With godlike arm uprears his heav'nly fhield.
All who, beneath the shades of gentle peace,
Beft plan'd the labours of domestic ease;
Who taught with truth, or with persuasion mov'd;
Who footh'd with numbers, or with fenfe improv'd;
Who told the pow'rs of reason, or refin'd,
All, all that ftrengthen❜d or adorn'd the mind;
Each priest of health, who mix'd the balmy bowl,
To rear frail man, and stay the fleeting soul;
All croud around, and echoing to the sky,
Hail, OXFORD, hail! with filial transport cry.
And fee yon folemn band! with virtuous aim, "Twas theirs in thought the glorious deed to frame: With pious plans each mufing feature glows, And well weigh'd counfels mark their meaning brows: "Lo! these the leaders of thy patriot line," HAMDEN, and HOOKER, HYDE, and SIDNEY fhine. These from thy fource the fires of freedom caught: How well thy fons by their example taught!
While in each breast th' hereditary flame
Still blazes, unextinguifh'd and the fame!
Nor all the toils of thoughtful peace engage,
'Tis thine to form the hero as the fage.
I fee the fable-fuited prince advance
With lillies crown'd, the fpoils of bleeding France,
EDWARD
the Mufes in yon hallow'd fhade
Bound on his tender thigh the martial blade :
Bade him the steel for British freedom draw,
And OXFORD taught the deeds that CRESSY faw.
And fee, great father of the laureat band,
The BRITISH KING before me feems to ftand.
He by my plenty-crowned scenes beguil'd,
And genial influence of my feafons mild,
Hither of yore (forlorn, forgotten maid)
The Muse in prattling infancy convey'd;
From Gothic rage the helplefs virgin bore,
And fix'd her cradle on my friendly shore :
Soon grew the maid beneath his foft'ring hand,
Soon pour'd her bleffings o'er th' enlighten❜d land.
Tho rude the + dome, and humble the retreat,
Where firft his pious care ordain'd her feat,
Lo! now on high fhe dwells in Attic bow'rs,
And proudly lifts to heav'n her hundred tow'rs.
* Alfred. Regis Romani. V. Virg. Æn. 6.
+ Aurea nunc, olim fylveftribus horrida dumis.
He firft fair Learning's and Britannia's cause
Adorn'd with manners, and advanc'd with laws;
He bade relent the Briton's favage heart,
And form'd his foul to focial scenes of art,
Wifest and best of kings !-----with ravish'd gaze
Elate the long proceffion he furveys :
Joyful he fmiles to find, that not in vain
He plan'd the rudiments of Learning's reign:
Himself he marks in each ingenuous breaft,
With all the founder in the race expreft:
With rapture views, fair Freedom ftill furvive
In yon bright domes (ill-fated fugitive)
(Such feen, as when the goddess pour'd the beam
Unfullied on his ancient diadem)
Well-pleas'd that in his own Pierian feat
She plumes her wings, and refts her weary feet; That here at laft she takes her fav'rite stand, "Here deigns to linger, ere the leave the land."
ET others boaft their heaps of fhining gold,
And view their fields with waving plenty crown'd,
Whom neigb'ring foes in conftant terror hold,
And trumpets break their flumbers, never found.
II.
While calmly poor, I trifle life away,
Enjoy sweet leisure by my chearful fire,
No wanton hope my quiet fhall betray,
But cheaply blefs'd, I'll fcorn each vain defire.
With timely care I'll fow
And plant my orchard with it's master's hand,
Nor blush to spread the hay, the hook to wield,
Or range the fheaves along the funny land.
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