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POETRY.

ODE,

By W. SMYTH, Esq. Professor of Modern History.

Performed in the Senate House at Cambridge, June 29, 1811, at the Installation of His Royal Highness William Frederick Duke of Gloucester and Edinburgh, Chancellor of the University.

RECITATIVE.

HOU, from thy realms of brighter day,
Thou, the bard, whose matchless lay,

Once gave to deathless fame thy Fitzroy's praise;
Now, when again the festive pomp we lead,
Oh yet receive, for 'tis the Poet's meed,
The earthly homage, which the heart would raise;
The fond, warm sigh, that would to life restore

The Genius loved and mourned, that must return no more.

AIR.

O thou lost Master of the British Shell!
Pleased in the calm of Academic bowers
To win the spoils of meditative hours,
And from thy studious cell-

See thy loved Arts and Virtue's gentle train
Wide round the world 'securely reign.

Alas! how is that world defiled,

How changed each scene that peaceful smiled,
Since in this crowded Dome thy skill divine

Did laurel wreaths round Granta's sceptre twine

CHORUS..

-What countless forms, with frantic mien,

Have flitted o'er yon darkened scene-
They come-they rage-they disappear
The Storm is Woe--the Pause is Fear-

RECITATIVE.

But who is He that treads the uncertain gloom, That comes the last, nor shares the general doom? Voc. LIII.

3 Q

AIR

AIR, AND QUARTETT.

Vain now each mighty name,
Thro' ages long descended;

Each Banner's storied fame,
Which conquest once attended:

RECITATIVE.

From height to height the Alpine Eagle flown,
Screams, as he finds no wild remain his own;

RECITATIVE.

With sullen march recede
The Russian's wasted train;
The high, indignant Swede
The Oppressor braves in vain ;
In dim eclipse the Crescent's glories fade;
And the far Indian sees the approaching shade:
Where, 'mid the clouds of war,

Where, now the fortune of the Austrian star?

The high-born Maid, in bridal garlands shewn,
Leads up the last sad pomp, that speaks a world o'erthrown.

CHORUS.

-The shout is heard on, high

Britannia! hark-they fly-they fly
Hark-fallen is the foe, and thine the victory.--
On Alexandria's plains glad sounds arise:
Vimeira loud replies;

The conquerors of the world are conquered now→→→
Rise, bind the laurels on thy brow,

Britannia rise!-'tis thine-'tis thine,

To roll the thunders of the blazing line,. And bid the ruin wide the scattered foe pursue; And thine, to rush amain

Along the embattled plain,.

Pour o'er the opposing ranks, and sweep them from the view;
RECITATIVE, AND AIR,

On Talavera's height,

And 'mid Barossa's fight,

High beat each English heart with triumph warm,

And England's Genius o'er the battle's storm

Rose proud, and shewed her Edward's laurelled form,

While near was seen the sable warrior son,

Crowned, as on Poictier's day, with wreaths from Cressy won.

AIR.

O Glo'ster I pleased to thee while Granta bends,
And gives her sceptre to thy faithful hand-;-
Oh think, while round the baleful storm extends
Why yet thy native land,

Why yet the loved, the beauteous islo,
In peace can rest, in virtue smile;

'RECITATIVL

RECITATIVE.

'Mid states in flames and ruïns hurled,
Why England yet survives the world!

AIR.

dat

From hardy sports, from manly schools,
From Truth's pure lore in Learning's bower,
From equal Law, alike that rules
The People's will, the Monarch's power;
From Piety, whose soul sincere
Fears God, and knows no other fear;
From Loyalty, whose high disdain
Turns from the fawning, faithless train;
From deeds, the Historian's records shew,
Valour's renown and Freedom's glow,
'Tis hence, that springs the unconquered fire,
That bids to Glory's heights aspire:

AIR.

O Glo'ster! hence the Sage's aim,

The Scholar's toil, the Stateman's fame,
The flaming sword, still ready found
To guard the Paradise around-

Here in their last retreat are seen

The peaceful Arts, the classic Muse;

And heavenly Wisdom hoar her light serene,
Her holy calm can still diffuse;

AIR, AND CHORUS.

No common cause, no vulgar sway,

Now, Glo'ster, claim thy generous zeal-
In England's bliss is Europe's stay,

And England's hope in Granta's weal.

AIR.

-Thee have the marshalled hosts of France
Seen on their firmest ranks advance;

Thine was the Soldier's fearless glow,
And thine the skill that watched around;
Shamed and repulsed the conscious foe
The laurel gave, tho Fortune frowned:
And England heard, with loud acclaim,
The promise of thy youthful fame;

DUET.

The modest Virtues on thy steps attend-
To thee the sons of grief and pain
For pity turn, nor turn in vain;
The hapless African has called thee friend→→→
Oh ever thou the generous cause defend!

CHORUS.

Pursue thy course!-an honest fame is thine,—
And Granta still shall bless the day,-
Granta that ever lov'd a Brunswick's name,
The honoured day, that saw her thus consign
To thee the Ensigns of her Sway,

Thee, Guardian of her Laws, her Rights, her Fame,
Son of her matron Lore, Prince of her Monarch's line.

From EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND ELEVEN.

By Mrs. BARBauld.

HERE walks a Spirit o'er the peopled earth,

T Secret his progress is, unknown his birth;

Moody and viewless as the changing wind,
No force arrests his foot, no chains can bind;
Where'er he turns, the human brute awakes,
And, roused to better life, his sordid but forsakes :
He thinks, he reasons, glows with purer fires,
Feels finer wants, and burns with new desires :
Obedient Nature follows where he leads;
The steaming marsh is changed to fruitful meads
The beasts retire from man's asserted reign,
And prove his kingdom was not given in vain.
Then from its bed is drawn the ponderous ore,
Then Commerce pours her gifts on every shore,
Then Babel's towers and terrassed gardens rise,
And pointed obelisks invade the skies;

The prince commands, in Tyrian purple drest,
And Egypt's virgins weave the linen vest.
Then spans the graceful arch the roaring tide,
And stricter bounds the cultured fields divide.
Then kindles Fancy, then expands the heart,
Then blow the flowers of Genius and of Art;
Saints, Heroes, Sages, who the land adorn,
Seem rather to descend than to be born;

Whilst History, midst the rolls consigned to fame,
With pen of adamant inscribes their name.

The Genius now forsakes the favoured shore,
And hates, capricious, what he loved before;
Then empires fall to dust, then arts decay,
And wasted realms enfeebled despots sway;

Even Nature's changed; without his fostering smile
Ophir no gold, no plenty yields the Nile;

The

The thirsty sand absorbs the useless rill,
And spotted plagues from putrid fens distill.
In desert solitudes then Tadmor sleeps,
Stern Marius then o'er fallen Carthage weeps;
Then with enthusiast love the pilgrim roves
To seek his footsteps in forsaken groves,
Explores the fractured arch, the ruined tower,
Those limbs disjointed of gigantic power;
Still at each step he dreads the adder's sting,
The Arab's javelin, or the tiger's spring;
With doubtful caution treads the echoing ground,
And asks where Troy or Babylon is found.

And now the vagrant Power no more detains
The vale of Tempe, or Ausonian plains;
Northward he throws the animating ray,
O'er Celtic nations bursts the mental day:
And, as some playful child the mirror turns,
Now here now there the moving lustre burns;
Now o'er his changeful fancy more prevail
Batavia's dykes than Arno's purple vale,
And stinted suns, and rivers bound with frost,
Than Enna's plains or Baia's viny coast;
Venice the Adriatic weds in vain,

And Death sits brooding o'er Campania's plain;
O'er Baltic shores and through Hercynian groves,
Stirring the soul, the mighty impulse moves;
Art plies his tools, and Commerce spreads her sail,
And wealth is wafted in each shifting gale.
The sous of Odin tread on Persian looms,
And Odin's daughters breathe distilled perfumes;
Loud minstrel Bards, in Gothic halls, rehearse
The Runic rhyme, and "build the lofty verse:"
The Muse, whose liquid notes were wont to swell
To the soft breathings of the' Æolian shell,
Submits, reluctant, to the harsher tone,
And scarce believes the altered voice her own.
And now, where Cæsar saw with proud disdain
The wattled hut and skin of azure stain,
Corinthian columns rear their graceful forms,
And light virandas brave the wintry storms,
While British tongues the fading fame prolong
Of Tully's eloquence and Maro's song.
Where once Bonduca whirled the scythed car,
And the fierce matrons raised the shriek of war,
Light forms beneath transparent muslins float,
And tutored voices swell the artful note.

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