AGE sinks to dust our venerable chief-
Flow, freely flow, the tribute of our grief!
Watch the pale twilight to its last dim ray,
Then turn, and think, how brilliant was the day!
Tost in the varied shock of public life,
Where leaders struggl'd, forward in the strife,
How prov'd, in every stage, his proud career,
Not vain the fruits, his youth had gather'd here!
Learning had mark'd him for her own ;-his mind
By the pure streams of ancient lore refin'd,
In daily commerce with the mighty dead,
There struck his root, and on that substance fed,
There fram'd his voice, and when he ceas'd from care,
There found his solace, for his heart was there.
And who shall fill his seat? The heir of fame
Has link'd with Oxford his immortal name.
Can we forget-what Time, that smothers all,
Shall bury latest with Oblivion's pall?-
Can we forget, when under one fell sway,
Cow'ring and crouch'd, the shade of Europe lay,
Who fled before the victor's reckless pride,
To the last rock, that stems the western tide,
Triumphant flight!-there firmly seated high,
Roll'd back the broken wave of victory:
Who, when the prison'd eagle burst his chain,
And soar'd, exulting, to his skies again,
Brought him to earth, and tam'd his tyrant wing,
And clos'd our twenty years of suffering!
So Rome, by steps, from fear to conquest grew, So, first sustain'd, then baffl'd, last o'erthrew, With either arm, of prudence and of force, The mighty Carthaginian's sweepy course: Worn out, stern Fabius, by thy cool delay, And crush'd at once on Zama's fatal day. But it was hard for even Rome to find Skill, spirit, patience, in one chief combin'd, Heroes succeeded heroes, year by year; We had one only-and that One is here!
Shall Science in her pride a soldier spurn?
Say, can she nothing from a soldier learn?
The light, elastic loftiness of soul,
The patient, hard, enduring self-controul,
Th' ascendancy of mind, the skill to sway,
Taught to command, by learning to obey—
To covet fame alone, and thirst for praise,
"To scorn delights, and live laborious days,"
To set at nought self-interest and ease,
These are their arts,-and let us copy these!
And did the Hero sink in idle peace,
When his own triumphs bade the conflict cease?
When the last echoes of the glorious fray
Died in low thunder sullenly away,
Rested he then, as useless and unknown,
Clos'd his career, his "occupation gone?"
-He rul'd the state, when dark and troublous round,
Gloomy and wild, the dubious tempest frown'd,
He held the balance when he dropp'd the sword,
Toil'd to preserve the peace he had restor❜d,
By grateful Europe sounded from afar,
Her trust in council, as her shield in war.
Quis novus hic nostris successit sedibus hospes ?
WHERE shall we find a guardian meet
For Alfred's sacred seat?
Lo! Science in her willowy vale,
With earnest gaze, and pale,
Seeks who may tend her hallowed flame,
In hours of dread and shame :
Nor vain her wistful search: but why Rests on that warrior form her calm, approving eye? 'Tis not for wreaths by Tagus won,
When Britain's Lion first came on;
For bright'ning Douro, freed from thrall,
When frequent plung'd the flying Gaul;
Nor for Vittoria's trophied plain,
Nor Salamanca's broken chain;
Nor for the heavy sword so true,
Thrown in the scale at Waterloo,
Where empires on the balance hung,
And with the sound old Europe rung:
"Tis not for these the tower-crown'd vale
Would hero-guest and guardian hail,
But, in his country's peril bold and free,
She sees her mark on him, true-hearted Loyalty.
Where shall the warrior find his praise
In sordid earth-dimm'd days?
My country's spirit sat and mourn'd
Her great Deliverer scorn'd:
And search'd the realms and oceans round
Where he might best be crown'd.
Nor sought in vain: now hear the spell,
How fit our peaceful wreaths yon helmed brow so well.— 'Tis not that o'er each time-worn hall
Fair lights from holier ages fall,
For cloister'd shade and hallow'd spring,
Where Piety may fold her wing,
And think of pure Heaven's Citadel,
Reflected in Castalia's well;
Nor for old Greece renew'd in thee,
Like Arethuse from 'neath the sea;
Nor that I know thee wise to wield
And temper Truth's own sword and shield:-
'Tis not for these I choose thy seat,
My Hero's prize and guerdon meet,
But for thy Lamps, that cheer the darkening sky
With light from other days, true-hearted Loyalty.
While Science here her garland weaves,
While England's spirit lives,
A viewless power, an airy chain
Shall sweetly blend the twain;
|
