Ye too, once inmates of these walls renown'd, Whose spirits mingling with the ethereal ray, Of universal nature traced the bound,

See

Or raised in majesty of thought the lay,

your

loved arts this clime to grace

Their rival radiance brighter shed,

While Holles smiles the wreath to place
Upon the youthful Victor's head.

Where Spenser sits among your thrones sublime, To the soft musick of his mournful lays Listening ye weep for his ungrateful time,

And point the better hope of happier days.

If with the dead dishonour's memory dies,
Forget, much injur'd, the unworthy woe!
In strains like thine so may our accents flow,
In nobler numbers yon fair domes arise.

When faction's storms, or some fell tyrants hate Arts join'd with freedom to one grave shall

doom,

Then, though these structures to the hand of fate Bend their proud height, like thine imperial

Rome!

Know, vainly Time, thy rapid rage
Shall point its wide destroying aim!
Since what defies the force of age

Thus consecrates the pile to fame.

Some future eye the ruin'd heap shall trace,
The name of Holles on the stone behold,
Shall point a Brunswick to a distant race
Benign and awful on the swelling gold.

Th' historick page, the poet's tuneful toil,
With these compared, their mutual aid shall raise
To build the records of eternal praise,

And deck with endless wreaths their honour'd soil,

Sweeter than warbled sounds that win the sense, Flows the glad musick of a grateful heart;

Beyond the pomp of wordy eloquence,

Or strains too cold, high wrought with labour'd art.

Though weakly sounds the jarring string;
Though vainly would the Muse explore
The heights, to which with eagle wing
Alone can heaven-taught genius soar,

Yet shall her hand ingenuous strive to twine
The blooming chaplet for her leaders brow;
While with new verdure graced in glory's shrine,
The ampler palms of civick honours grow ;

When he, these favour'd shades appears to bless, Whose guardian counsels guide a nation's fate And with superiour toils for Europe's state Mixes the thought of Granta's happiness.

Hail seats revered! where thoughtful pleasures dwell,

And hovering peace extends her downy wings. Where musing knowledge holds her humble cell, And truth divine unlocks her secret springs

This verse with mild acceptance deign
To hear, this verse yourselves inspire,
Ere yet within your sacred fane

The Muse suspends her votive lyre.

Thee Granta, thus with filial thanks I greet,

With smiles maternal thou those thanks receive, For learning's humble wealth, for friendship sweet,

For every calmer joy thy scenes could give.

While thus I sport upon thy peaceful strand,
The storms of life at awful distance roar;
And still I dread, still lingering on the shore,
To launch my little bark, and quit the land.

A man of virtues, talents, and accomplishments, to which he owed his advancement in the world: his life has lately been given to the publick by Lord Teignmouth; and it affords a rare and useful example of the power of industry, combined with genius.

SOLIMA,

AN ARABIAN ECLOGUE;

Written in the year 1768.

Ye maids of Aden, hear a loftier tale

Than e'er was sung in meadow, bower, or dale.
The smiles of Abelah, and Maia's eyes,

Where beauty plays, and love in slumber lies;

VOL. III.

CC

The fragrant hyacinths of Azza's hair,
That wanton with the laughing summer-air;
Love-tinctured cheeks, whence roses seek their
bloom,

And lips, from which the Zephyr steals perfume;

Invite no more the wild, unpolish'd lay,
But fly like dreams before the morning ray.
Then farewell, love! and farewell, youthful fires
A nobler warmth my kindled breast inspires.
Far bolder notes the listening wood shall fill:
Flow smooth, ye rivulets, and ye gales be still.

And with their spicy breath embalm the skies; Where every breeze sheds incense o'er the

vales,

!

And every shrub the scent of musk exhales !
See through yon opening glade a glittering scene,
Lawns ever gay;
and meadows ever green
Then ask the groves and ask the vocal bowers,
Who deck'd their spiry tops with blooming

flowers,

Taught the blue stream o'er sandy vales to flow,

And the brown wild with liveliest hues to glow?