The insect youth are on the wing, And float amid the liquid noon: To Contemplation's sober eye And they that creep, and they that fly, Alike the busy and the gay In Fortune's varying colors drest: Methinks I hear in accents low The sportive kind reply; "Poor moralist! and what art thou? A solitary fly! Thy joys no glittering female meets, ODE FOR MUSIC. PERFORMED IN THE SENATE-HOUSE AT CAMBRIDGE, JULY 1, 1769, AT THE INSTALLATION OF HIS GRACE AUGUSTUS-HENRY FITZROY, DUKE OF GRAFTON, CHANCELLOR OF THE UNIVERSITY. "Ye brown o'er-arching groves, That Contemplation loves, Where willowy Camus lingers with delight! Oft at the blush of dawn I trod your level lawn, Oft woo'd the gleam of Cynthia silver-bright But hark! the portals sound, and pacing forth High potentates and dames of royal birth, And sad Chatillon,† on her bridal morn The murder'd saint, and the majestic lord, "What is grandeur, what is power? "HENCE, avaunt, ('tis holy ground,) Mad Sedition's cry profane, Servitude that hugs her chain, Edward the Third; who added the fleur-de-lis of France to the arms of England. He founded Trinity College. † Mary de Valentia, Countess of Pembroke, daughter Let painted Flattery hide her serpent-train in flowers. of Guy de Chatillon, Comte de St. Paul in France: f Nor Envy base, nor creeping Gain, While bright-ey'd Science watches round: From yonder realms of empyrean day There sit the sainted sage, the bard divine, Yet hither oft a glance from high To bless the place, where on their opening soul "Twas Milton struck the deep-ton'd shell, whom tradition says, that her husband, Audemar de Valentia, Earl of Pembroke, was slain at a tournament on the day of his nuptials. She was the foundress of Pembroke College or Hall, under the name of Aula Mane de Valentia. Elizabeth de Burg, Countess of Clare, was wife of John de Burg, son and heir of the Earl of Ulster, and daughter of Gilbert de Clare, Earl of Gloucester, by Joan of Acres, daughter of Edward the First. Hence the poet gives her the epithet of princely. She founded Clare Hall § Margaret of Anjou, wife of Henry the Sixth, found ress of Queen's College. The poet had celebrated her con jugal fidelity in a former ode. Elizabeth Widville, wife of Edward the Fourth (bence called the paler rose, as being of the house of York.) She added to the foundation of Margaret of Anjou. ¶ Henry the Sixth and Eighth. The former the founder Meek Newton's self bends from his state sublime, of King's, the latter the greatest benefactor to Trinity And nods his hoary head, and listens to the rhyme. | College. 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'st fire, a Beaufort's grace. Thy liberal heart, thy judging eye, The flower unheeded shall descry, And bid it round Heaven's altars shed The fragrance of its blushing head: Shall raise from Earth the latent gem, To glitter on the diadem. "Lo, Granta waits to lead her blooming band. Not obvious, not obtrusive, she No vulgar praise, no venal incense flings; With modest pride to grace thy youthful brow While spirits blest above and men below Join with glad voice the loud symphonious lay. Nor fear the rocks, nor seek the shore: 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 Eight times emerging from the flood, Some speedy aid to send. From hence, ye beauties, undeceiv'd, Not all, that tempts your wandering eyes, ODE ON THE DEATH OF A FAVORITE CAT, DROWNED IN A TUB OF GOLD-FISHES. "Twas on a lofty vase's side, Her conscious tail her joy declar'd; The fair round face, the snowy beard, The velvet of her paws, Her coat, that with the tortoise vies, Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes, She saw; and purr'd applause. Still had she gaz'd; but 'midst the tide * Countess of Richmond and Derby; the mother of Henry the Seventh, foundress of St. John's and Christ's Colleges. †The Countess was a Beaufort, and married to a Tudor; hence the application of this line to the Duke of Grafton, who claims descent from both these families. Lord-treasurer Burleigh was chancellor of the University in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. 84 Ah, happy hills, ah, pleasing shade, Where once my careless childhood stray'd, I feel the gales, that from ye blow, As waving fresh their gladsome wing, My weary soul they seem to soothe, And, redolent of joy and youth, To breathe a second spring. Say, father Thames, for thou hast seen The paths of pleasure trace, The captive linnet which enthral ? § King Henry the Sixth, founder of the college. 3 F 2 While some on earnest business bent Their murmuring labors ply 'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint And unknown regions dare descry: Gay Hope is theirs, by Fancy fed, Less pleasing, when possest; The tear forgot as soon as shed, The sun-shine of the breast; Their buxom health, of rosy hue; Wild wit, invention ever new, And lively cheer of vigor born; The thoughtless day, the easy night, The spirits pure, the slumbers light, That fly th' approach of morn. Alas, regardless of their doom, The little victims play! No sense have they of ills to come, 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 sha.] the fury passions tear, 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 forc'd to flow; And keen Remorse, with blood defil'd, And moody Madness laughing wild Amid severest woe. Lo, in the vale of years beneath The painful family of Death, More hideous than their queen: Those in the deeper vitals rage: And slow-consuming Age. To each his sufferings: all are men, Yet ah! why should they know their fate! And happiness too swiftly flies. THE BARD. A PINDARIC ODE. I. "RUIN seize thee, ruthless king! On a rock, whose haughty brow With haggard eyes the poet stood; Hark, how each giant-oak, and desert cave, "Cold is Cadwallo's tongue, Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topp'd be No more I weep. They do not sleep. On yonder cliffs, a grisly band, I see them sit, they linger yet, With me in dreadful harmony they join, Revere his consort's* faith, his father'st fame, Twin'd with her blushing foe we spread: And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line. Wallows beneath the thorny shade. II. "Weave the warp, and weave the woof, The winding-sheet of Edward's race: The characters of Hell to trace. The shrieks of death, through Berkeley's roofs that Shrieks of an agonizing king; She-wolf of France,† with unrelenting fangs, wait! Amazement in his van, with Flight combin'd; Mighty Victor, mighty Lord, Low on his funeral couch he lies! No pitying heart, no eye, afford Is the sable warrior fled? Thy son is gone. He rests among the dead. Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the zephyr blows, prey. "Fill high the sparkling bowl, The rich repast prepare: Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast: Fell Thirst and Famine scowl A baleful smile upon their baffled guest. Long years of havoc urge their destin'd course, * Edward the Second, cruelly butchered in Berkeley castle. † Isabel of France, Edward the Second's adulterous queen. Triumphs of Edward the Third in France. § Death of that king, abandoned by his children, and even robbed in his last moments by his courtiers and his mistress. Edward the Black Prince, dead some time before his father. T Ruinous civil wars of York and Lancaster. ** Henry the Sixth, George Duke of Clarence, Edward the Fifth, Richard Duke of York, &c. believed to be murdered secretly in the Tower of London. The oldest part of that structure is vulgarly attributed to Julius Cæsar. Now, brothers, bending o'er th' accursed loom, III. "Edward, lo! to sudden fate (Weave we the woof. The thread is spun.) Leave me unbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn : But oh! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height "Girt with many a baron bold, Sublime their starry fronts they rear; And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old, In the midst a form divine! Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line; What strings symphonious tremble in the air, ¶ Eleanor of Castile died a few years after the conquest of Wales. The heroic proof she gave of her affection for her lord is well known. The monuments of his regret and sorrow for the loss of her, are still to be seen at Northampton, Geddington, Waltham, and other places. ** It was the common belief of the Welsh nation, that King Arthur was still alive in Fairy-land, and should return again to reign over Britain. †† Both Merlin and Taliessin had prophesied, that the Welsh should regain their sovereignty over this island; which seemed to be accomplished in the house of Tudor. 1 Taliessin, chief of the bards, flourished in the sixth century. His works are still preserved, and his memory held in high veneration among his countrymen. Shafts for shuttles, dipt in gore, Shoot the trembling cords along; Sword, that once a monarch bore, Keep the tissue close and strong. Mista, black terrific maid, Sangrida, and Hilda, see, Join the wayward work to aid: "Tis the woof of victory. Ere the ruddy Sun be set, Pikes must shiver, javelins sing, Blade with clattering buckler meet, Hauberk crash, and helmet ring. (Weave the crimson web of war, As the paths of Fate we tread, Wading through th' ensanguin'd field; Gondula, and Geira, spread O'er the youthful king your shield. 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.) They, whom once the desert-beach Low the dauntless Earl is laid, Gor'd with many a gaping wound Fate demands a nobler head; Soon a king shall bite the ground Long his loss shall Eirin weep, Ne'er again his likeness see; Long her strains in sorrow steep, Strains of immortality! Horror covers all the heath, Clouds of carnage blot the Sun. Sisters, weave the web of death; Sisters, cease, the work is done Hail the task, and hail the hands! Songs of joy and triumph sing! Joy to the victorious bands; Triumph to the younger king. Mortal, thou that hear'st the tale, Learn the tenor of our song. Scotland, through each winding vale Far and wide the notes prolong. Sisters, hence, with spurs of speed; Each her thundering falchion wield Each bestride her sable steed: Hurry, hurry to the field. |