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Ye temples dim, where pious duty pays
ller holy hymns of ever-echoing praise ;
Lol your loved Isis, from the bordering vale,
With all a mother's fondness bids you hail !--
Hail, Oxford, hail ! of all that's good and great,
Of all that's fair, the guardian and the seat ;
Nurse of each brave pursuit, each generous aim,
By truth exalted to the throne of fame ;
Like Greece in science and in liberty,
As Athens learned, as Lacedemon free."

Sir Joshua was proud, as well he tend to have made, to modern art; might be, of the Laureate's praises, but I say pretend, for though it is allow. seems to have felt that the poet, after ed that you have, like a true poet, all, loved in his heart the old“ wreath- feigned marvellously well, and have ed Gothic window," where “hues ro- opposed the two different styles with mantic tinged the gorgeous pane," the skill of a connoisseur, yet I may better than the « portraitures of attic be allowed to entertain some doubts of art" he had been induced to celebrate. the sincerity of your conversion." No “ I owe you great obligations for the wonder-for what can be finer, in its sacrifice which ye have made, or pre- way, than this:

" Ah, stay thy treacherous hand, forbear to trace
Those faultless forms of elegance and grace!
Ah, cease to spread the bright transparent mass,
With Titian's pencil, o'er the speaking glass !
Nor steal, by strokes of art with truth combined,
The fond illusions of my wayward mind!
For long enamoured of a barbarous age,
A faithless truant to the classic page ;
Long have I loved to catch the simple chime,
Of minstrel harps, and spell the fabling rhime ;
To view the festive rites, the knightly play
That decked heroic Albion's elder day;
To mark the mouldering halls of barons bold,
And the rough castle, cast in giant mould ;
With Gothic manners Gothic arts explore,
And muse on the magnificence of yore.

“ But chief, enraptured have I loved to roam,
A lingering votary, the vaulted dome,
Where the tall shafts, that mount in massy pride,
Their mingling branches shoot from side to side ;
Where elfin sculptors, with fantastic clew,
O'er the long roof their wild embroidery drew;
Where Superstition with capricious liand
In many a maze the wreathed window planned,
With hues romantic tinged the gorgeous pane,
To fill with holy light the wondrous fane ;
To aid the builder's model, ricbly rude,
By no Vitruvian symmetry subdued ;
To suit the genius of the mystic pile :
Whilst as around the far retiring ile,
And fretted shrines, with hoary trophies hung,
Her dark illumination wide she flung,
With new solemnity, the nooks profound,
The caves of death, and the dim arches frowned.
From bliss long felt unwillingly we part :
Ah, spare the weakness of a lover's heart !
Chase not the phantoms of my fairy dream,
Phantoms that shrink at reason's painful gleam !
That gofter touch, insidious artist, stay,
Nor to new joys my struggling breast betray!"

It would not, we suspect, be easy -a wise and good man) who commu. for any one of our living poets to sur. nicated the anecdote_if anecdote it pass what we have been copiously be - to Dr Mant (now Bishop of quoting; if you think so, you had Down—a wise and good man too), better try. Strip Warton of his anti- says well, “ there is good reason to quarianism, we have heard it said, and think that the peculiar fondness for seen it written, and you leave him Castle Imagery, which Warton, on bare. Strip a cathedral of its anti. many occasions, strongly discovers, quity, and it becomes a barn. Play may be traced to this incident of his at the innocent game of strip-Peter. early days." Perhaps all the most naked till you are tired, but let Tom pleasing characteristics of Warton's wear his weeds. There is much in genius are, we think, exhibited in his what Joseph Warton relates of a visit Stanzas written at Vale-Royal Abbey he and his brother had with their fa in Cheshire-a monastery of Cister. ther, in very early youth, to Windsor cian monks founded by King Edward Castle. The old man-who had been the First, in consequence of a vow Poetry Professor in his day too, and which he made when in danger of ought to have been better-was angry being shipwrecked, during his return with Tom for not having expressed from a crusade. It was first founded any pleasure at the spectacle ; « Tho. in Dernhall, in the same county, in the mas goes on, and takes no notice of reign of Henry the Third ; but Ed. any thing he has seen ;' but Joe, who ward translated it to a place on the never forgot the remark, in maturer river Wever, not far distant, to which years observed, “I believe my bro. he then gave the name of the Valether was more struck with what he Royal. The versification-and the saw than either of us." And Dr measure is a noble one—is equal to Huntingford (late Bishop of Salisbury that of Davenant, Dryden, or Gray.

WRITTEN AT VALE-ROYAL ABBEY IN CHESHIRE.

“ As evening slowly spreads his mantle hoar,
No ruder sounds the bounded valley fill,
Than the faint din, from yonder sedgy shore,
Of rushing waters, and the murmuring mill.

“ How sunk the scene, where cloister'd leisure mus'd !
Where war-worn Edward paid his awful vow; .
And, lavish of magnificence, diffus'd
His crowded spires o'er the broad mountain's brow!

“ The golden fans, that o'er the turrets strown,
Quick glancing to the Sun, wild music made,
Are reft, and every battlement o'ergrown
With knotted thorns, and the tall sapling's shade.

“ The prickly thistle sheds its plumy crest,
And matted nextles shade the crumbling mass,
Where shone the pavement's surface smooth, imprest
With rich reflection of the storied glass.

“ Here hardy chieftains slept in proud repose,
Sublimely shrin'd in gorgeous imagery;
And through the lessening iles, in radiant rows,
Their consecrated banners hung on high.

“ There oxen browze, and there the sable yew
Through the dun void displays its baleful glooms;
And sheds in lingering drops ungenial dew
O'er the forgotten graves and scatter'd tombs.

“ By the slow clock, in stately-measur'd chime,
That from the massy tower tremendous toll'd,
No more the plowman counts the tedious time,

Nor distant shepherd peus his twilight fold,
VOL, XLIV. NO. CCLXXVI,

2 N

“ High o'er the trackless heath at midnight seen,
No more the windows, rang'd in long array,
(Where the tall shaft and fretted nook between
Thick ivy twines) the taper'd rites betray.

Ev'n now, amid the wavering ivy-wreatha, (While kindred thoughts the pensive sounds inspire,) When the weak breeze in many a whisper breathes, I seem to listen to the chanting quire,

" As o'er these shatter'd towers intent we muse,
Though rear’d by Charity's capricious zeal,
Yet can our breasts soft Pity's sigh refuse,
Or conscious Candour's modest plea conceal ?

“ For though the sorceress, Superstition blind,
Amid the pomp of dreadful sacrifice,
O'er the dim roofs, to cheat the tranced mind,
Oft bade her visionary gleams arise :

“ Though the vain hours unsocial Sloth beguild, .
While the still cloister's gate Oblivion lock'd;
And thro' the chambers pale, to slumbers mild
Wan Indolence her drowsy cradle rock'd :

Yet hence, inthron'd in venerable state,
Proud Hospitality dispens'd her store :
Ah, see, beneath yon tower's unvaulted gate,
Forlorn she sits upon the brambled floor!

“ Her ponderous vase, with Gothic portraiture Emboss'd, no more with balmy moisture flows; Mid the mix'd shards o'erwhelm'd in dust obscure, No more, as erst, the golden goblet flows.

“ Sore beat by storms in Glory's arduous way,
Here might Ambition muse, a pilgrim sage ;
Here raptur'd see religion's evening ray
Gild the calm walks of his reposing age.

“ Here ancient Art her dædal fancies play'd
In the quaint mazes of the crisped roof;
In mellow glooms the speaking pane array'd,
And rang'd the cluster'd column, massy proof.

“ Here Learning, guarded from a barbarous age,
Hover'd awhile, nor dar'd attempt the day;
But patient trac'd upon the pictur'd page
The holy legend, or heroic lay.

“ Hither the solitary minstrel came
An honour'd guest, while the grim evening sky
Hung lowering, and around the social flame
Tun'd his bold harp to tales of chivalry.

“ Thus sings the Muse, all pensive and alone;
Nor scorns within the deep fane's inmost cell
To pluck the gray moss from the mantled stone,
Some holy founder's mouldering name to spell.

“ Thus sings the Muse :_yet partial as she sings,
With fond regret surveys these ruin'd piles :
And with fair images of ancient things
The captive bard's obsequious mind beguiles,

" But much we pardon to th' ingenuous Muse ;
Her fairy shapes are trick'd by Fancy's pen :
Severer Reason forms far other views,
And scans the scene with philosophic ken.

“ From these deserted domes now glories rise ;
More useful institutes, adorning man,
Manners enlarg'd, and new civilities,
On fresh foundations build the social plan.

“ Science, on ampler plume, a bolder flight
Essays, escap'd from Superstition's shrine ;
While freed Religion, like primeval light
Bursting from chaos, spreads her warmth divine."

But by far the noblest of Warton's inspirations are his two odes—the Crusade-and the Grave of King Arthur. “ They have," quoth the author of Hohenlinden and Lochiel, “ a genuine air of martial and minstrel enthusiasm." And again," the spirit of Chivalry he may indeed be said to have revived in the poetry of modern times.” Scott took a motto for the Minstrelsy of the Border from War. ton—a most appropriate one“ The songs, to savage virtue dear, That won of yore the public ear; Ere polity, sedate and sage, Had quenched the fires of feudal rage." But Scott was indebted to Warton for far more than a motto-and has somewhere acknowledged the obligation_his genius was kindled by “ the Crusade,” and “ the Grave of Arthur"—nor has he surpassed, if indeed he has equalled them in any of his most heroic strains. The composition is more perfect than that of any thing Scott ever wrote—the style more sus. tained and the spirit more accordant with the olden time.

“ The Crusade" is supposed to have been the Song composed by Richard and Blondel, and sung by that min strel under the window of the Castle in which the King was imprisoned by Leopold of Austria.

Tremble, watchmen, as ye spy
From distant towers, with anxious eye,
The radiant range of shield and lance
Down Damascus' hills advance :
From Sion's turrets as afar
Ye ken the march of Europe's war !
Saladin, thou paynim king,
From Albion's isle revenge we bring !
On Acon's spiry citadel,
Though to the gale thy banners swell,
Pictured with the silver Moon ;
England shall end thy glory soon!
In vain, to break our firm array,
Thy brazen drums hoarse discord bray:
Those sounds our rising fury fan :
English Richard in the van,
On to victory we go,
A vaunting infidel the foe.'

“ Blondel led the tuneful band,
And swept the wire with glowing hand.
Cyprus, from her rocky mound,
And Crete, with piny verdure crowned,
Far along the smiling main
Echoed the prophetic strain.

“ Soon we kissed the sacred earth
That gave a murdered Saviour birth;
Then with ardour fresh endued,
Thus the solemn song renewed.

" Lo, the toilsome voyage past,
Heaven's favoured hills appear at last !
Object of our holy vow,
We tread the Tyrian valleys now.
From Carmel’s almond shaded steep,
We feel the cheering fragrance creep:
O'er Engaddi's shrubs of balm
Waves the date empurpled palm :
See Lebanon's aspiring head
Wide his immortal umbrage spread !
Hail, Calvary, thou mountain hoar,
Wet with our Redeemer's gore!
Ye trampled tombs, ye fanes forlorn,
Ye stones, by tears of pilgrims worn;
Your ravished honours to restore,
Fearless we climb this hostile shore !
And thou, the sepulchre of God!
By mocking pagans rudely trod,
Bereft of every awful rite,
And quenched thy lamps that beamed so

bright;

THE CRUSADE.

“ Bound for holy Palestine,
Nimbly we brush'd the level brine,
All in azure steel arrayed ;
O'er the wave our weapon played,
And made the dancing billows glow;
High upon the trophied prow,
Many a warrior-minstrel swung
His sounding harp, and boldly sung:

"' Syrian virgins, wail and weep, English Richard ploughs the deep!

For thee, from Britain's distant coast, Castle of Cilgarran, where this disLo, Richard leads his faithful host !

covery is supposed to have been made, Aloft in his heroic hand,

now a ruin, stands on a rock deBlazing, like the beacon's brand,

scending to the river Teivi in PemO'er the far-affrighted fields,

brokeshire, and was built by Roger Resistless Kaliburn he wields.

Montgomery, who led the van of the Proud Saracen, pollute no more

warriors at Hastings. The shrines by martyrs built of yore! From each wild mountain's trackless

THE GRAVE OF KING ARTHUR, crown In vain thy gloomy castles frown :

“ Stately the feast, and high the cheer : Thy battering engines, huge and high, Girt with many an armed peer, In vain our steel-clad steeds defy ;

And canopied with golden pall,
And, rolling in terrific state,

Amid Cilgarran's castle hall,
On giant wheels harsh thunders grate. Sublime in formidable state,
When eve has hushed the buzzing camp, And warlike splendour, Henry sate;
Amid the moon-light vapours damp, Prepared to stain the briny food
Thy necromantic forms, in vain,

Of Shannon's lakes with rebel blood.
Haunt us on the tented plain :

" • Illumining the vaulted roof, We bid the spectre-shapes avaunt,

A thousand torches flamed aloof : Ashtaroth, and Termagaunt!

From massy cups, with golden gleam With many a demon, pale of hue,

Sparkled the red metheglin's stream : Doomed to drink the bitter dew

To grace the gorgeous festival, That drops from Macon's sooty tree, Along the lofty-windowed hall, Mid the dread grove of ebony,

The storied tapestry was hung : Nor magic charms, nor fiends of Hell, With minstrelsy the rafters hung The Christian's holy courage quell. Of harps, that with reflected light “ Salem, in ancient majesty

From the proud gallery glittered bright: Arise, and lift thee to the sky!

While gifted bards, a rival throng Soon on thy battlements divine

(From distant Mona, muse of song Shall wave the badge of Constantine. From Teivi, fringed with umbrage brown, Ye barons, to the Sun unfold

From Elvy's vale, and Cader's crown, Our cross with crimson wove and gold !'”. From many a sbaggy precipice

That shades lerne's hoarse abyss, “ The Grave of King Arthur” is

And many a sunless solitude even a still nobler strain

: King
King

Of Radnor's inmost mountains rude), Henry the Second having undertaken to crown the banquet's solemn close, an expedition into Ireland to suppress Themes of British glory chose ; a rebellion raised by Roderic, King of And to the strings of various chyme Connaught, commonly called O'Con- Attempered thus the fabling rhyme. nor Dunn, or the brown Monarch of O'er Cornwall's cliffs the tempest Ireland, was entertained in his passage roared, through Wales with the songs of the High the screaming sea-mew soared ; Welsh Bards. The subject of their On Tintaggel's topmost tower poetry was King Arthur, whose his. Darksome fell the sleety shower ; tory had been so disguised by fabu. Round the rough castle shrilly sung lous inventions that the place of his The whirling blast, and wildly ilung burial was in general scarcely known On each tall rampart's thundering side or remembered. But in one of those Welsh poems sung before Henry, it When Arthur ranged his red-cross ranks was recited that King Arthur. after On conscious Camlan's crimsoned banks : the Battle of Carnlan in Cornwall,

By Mordred's faithless guile decreed was interred at Glastonbury Abbey,

Beneath a Saxon spear to bleed ! before the high altar, yet without any

Yet in vain a paynim foe external mark or memorial. After.

Armed with fate the mighty blow; wards, Henry visited the Abbey, and

For when he fell, an elfin queen,

All in secret, and unseen, commanded the spot, described by the

scribeg. oy the O'er the fainting hero threw bard, to be opened ; when, digging Her mantle of ambrosial blue ; near twenty feet deep, they found the And bade her spirits bear him far, body deposited under a large stone, in. In Merlin's agate-axled car, scribed with Arthur's name. This is To her green isle's enamelled steep, the groundwork of the ode ; but it is Far in the navel of the deep. told with some slight variations from O'er his wounds she sprinkled dew the Chronicle of Glastonbury, The From flowers that in Arabia grew;

The surges of the tun

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