ON

QUEEN CAROLINE'S

REBUILDING THE LODGINGS OF THE BLACK PRINCE AND

HENRY V. AT QUEEN'S COLLEGE, OXFORD.

WHERE bold and graceful soars, secure of fame,
The pile now worthy great Philippa's name,
Mark that old ruin, gothic and uncouth,
Where the Black Edward pass'd his beardless youth,
And the fifth Henry, for his first renown,
Outstripp'd each rival in a student's gown.

In that coarse age were princes fond to dwell
With meagre monks, and haunt the silent cell.
Sent from the Monarch's to the Muses' court,
Their meals were frugal and their sleeps were short;
To couch at curfew time they thought no scorn,
And froze at matins every winter morn;
They read on early book the starry frame,
And lisp'd each constellation by its name,
Art after art still dawning to their view,
And their mind opening as their stature grew.
Yet whose ripe manhood spread our fame so far,
Sages in peace and demigods in war?

Who stern in fight made echoing Cressy ring,
And, mild in conquest, serv'd his captive king:
Who gain'd at Agincourt the victor's bays,
Nor took himself, but gave good Heaven the praise?
Thy nurslings, ancient dome! to virtue form'd,
To mercy listening whilst in fields they storm'd;
Fierce to the fierce, and warm the' opprest to save,
Through life rever'd, and worship'd in the grave.

In tenfold pride their mouldering roofs shall shine, The stately work of bounteous Caroline; And blest Philippa, with unenvious eyes, From Heaven behold her rival's fabric rise. If still, bright saint! this spot deserves thy care, Incline thee to the' ambitious Muse's pray'r; O couldst thou win young William's bloom to grace His mother's walls, and fill thy Edward's place, How would that genius, whose propitious wings Have here twice hover'd o'er the sons of kings, Descend triumphant to his ancient seat, And take in charge a third Plantagenet!

ON THE DEATH OF

THE EARL OF CADOGAN.

Or Marlborough's captains and Eugenio's friends
The last, Cadogan, to the grave descends.
Low lies each hand whence Blenheim's glory sprung,
The chiefs who conquer'd and the bards who sung,
From his cold corse though every friend be fled,
Lo! Envy waits, that lover of the dead.

Thus did she feign o'er Nassau's hearse to mourn,
Thus wept insidious, Churchill! o'er thy urn,
To blast the living gave the dead their due,
And wreaths herself had tainted, trim'd anew.
Thou yet unnam❜d to fill his empty place,
And lead to war thy country's growing race,
Take every wish a British heart can frame,
Add palm to palm, and rise from fame to fame!
An hour must come when thou shalt hear with rage
Thyself traduc'd, and curse a thankless age:

Nor yet for this decline the generous strife;
These ills, brave man! shall quit thee with thy life
Alive though stain❜d by every abject slave,
Secure of fame and justice in the grave.

Ah! no-when once the mortal yields to Fate
The blast of Fame's sweet trumpet sounds too late,
Too late to stay the spirit on its flight,

Or sooth the new inhabitant of light,

Who hears regardless, while fond man, distrest,
Hangs on the absent, and laments the blest.

Farewell then Fame ! ill sought through fields of blood,

Farewell, unfaithful promiser of good!

Thou music warbling to the deafen'd ear!

Thou incense wasted on the funeral bier!

Through life pursued in vain, by death obtain'd; When ask'd, denied us; and when given, disdain'd

PROLOGUE

TO THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD, 1713.

WHAT kings henceforth shall reign, what states be
Is fix'd at length by Anna's just decree; [free,
Whose brows the Muse's sacred wreath shall fit
Is left to you, the arbiters of wit.

With beating hearts the rival poets wait

Till you, Athenians, shall decide their fate;
Secure, when to these learned seats they come,
Of equal judgment and impartial doom.
Poor is the player's fame, whose whole renown
Is but the praise of a capricious town,

While with mock majesty and fancied pow'r
He struts in robes, the monarch of an hour!
Oft wide of nature must be act a part,

Make love in tropes, in bombast break his heart;
In turn and simile resign his breath,

And rhyme and quibble in the pangs of death.
We blush when plays like these receive applause,
And laugh in secret at the tears we cause,
With honest scorn our own success disdain,
A worthless honour and inglorious gain.

[due,

No trifling scenes at Oxford shall appear; Well what we blush to act, may you to hear. To you our fam'd, our standard plays we bring, The work of poets whom you taught to sing: Though crown'd with fame, they dare not think it Nor take the laurel till bestow'd by you. Great Cato's self, the glory of the stage! Who charms, corrects, exalts, and fires the age, Begs here he may be tried by Roman laws; To you, O fathers! he submits his cause: He rests not in the people's general voice Till you, the senate, have confirm'd his choice. Fine is the secret, delicate the art, To wind the passions and command the heart! For fancied ills to force our tears to flow, And make the generous soul in love with woe; To raise the shades of heroes to our view, Rebuild fall'n empires, and old time renew, How hard the task! how rare the godlike rage! None should presume to dictate for the stage, But such as boast a great extensive mind, Enrich'd by Nature and by Art refin’d;

Who from the ancient stores their knowledge bring, And tasted early of the Muses' spring.

May none pretend upon her throne to sit

But such as, sprung from you, are born of wit: Chosen by the mob, their lawless claim we slight; Your's is the old hereditary right.

COLIN AND LUCY,

A BALLAD.

OF Leinster, fam'd for maidens fair,
Bright Lucy was the grace,
Nor e'er did Liffy's limpid stream
Reflect so sweet a face;

Till luckless love and pining care
Impair'd her rosy hue,
Her coral lips and damask cheeks,
And eyes of glossy blue.

Oh! have you seen a lily pale

When beating rains descend?

So droop'd the slow-consuming maid,
Her life now near its end.

By Lucy warn'd, of flattering swains
Take heed, ye easy fair!

Of vengeance due to broken vows,
Ye perjur'd swains! beware.

Three times, all in the dead of night,
A bell was heard to ring,

And, shrieking at her window thrice,
The raven flapp'd his wing.