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Their murmur shakes the Zephyr's wing ;
The storm obeys their powerful spell;
See, from his gloomy cell

Fierce Winter starts! his scowling eye
Bloats the fair mantle of the breathing Spring,
And lowers along the ruffled sky.

To the deep vault the yelling Harpies run,

Its yawning mouth receives th' infernal crew. Dim thro' the black gloom winks the glimmering sun, And the pale furnace gleams with brimstone blue. Hell howls and fiends that join the dire acclaim Dance on the bubbling tide, and point the livid flame.

But ah! on sorrow's cypress bough

Can Beauty breathe her genial bloom?
On Death's cold cheek will passion glow?
Or Music warble from the tomb?

There sleeps the Bard, whose tuneful tongue
Pour'd the full stream of mazy song.

Young Spring, with lip of ruby, here
Showers from her lap the blushing year;
While along the turf reclin'd,
The loose wing swimming on the wind,
The Loves with forward gesture bold,
Sprinkle the sod with spangling gold;
And oft the blue-eyed graces trim
Dance lightly round on downy limb;
Oft too, when Eve demure and still
Chequers the green dale's purling rill,

Sweet Fancy pours the plaintive strain ;

Or wrapt in soothing dream,

By Avon's ruffled stream,

Hears the low-murmuring gale that dies along the plain.

ODE XXI.

FOR MUSIC,

PERFORMED

AT THE THEATRE IN OXFORD,

ON THE SECOND OF JULY, 1751,

BEING THE ANNIVERSARY APPOINTED BY THE LATE LORD CREW, BISHOP OF DURHAM,

For the Commemoration of Benefactors to the University,

BY THE REV. T. WARTON, B.D.

WHERE shall the Muse, that on the sacred shell
Of men in arts and arms renown'd
The solemn strain delights to swell;

O where shall Clio choose a race,
Whom fame with every laurel, every grace,
Like those of Albion's envied isle, has crown'd?
Daughter and mistress of the sea,

All honor'd Albion, hail!

Where'er thy commerce spreads the swelling sail, Ne'er shall she find a land like thee,

So brave, so learned, and so free,

All-honor'd Albion, hail!

But in the princely land of all that's good and great,
Would Clio seek the most distinguish'd seat,
Most blest, where all is so sublimely blest,
That with superior grace o'erlooks the rest,
Like a rich gem in circling gold enshrin'd;
Where Isis' waters wind

Along the sweetest shore

That ever felt fair Culture's hands,
Or Spring's embroider'd mantle wore,
Lol where majestic Oxford stands ;
Virtue's awful throne !

Wisdom's immortal source !

Thee well her best belov'd may boasting Albion

own,

Whence each fair purpose of ingenuous praise, All that in thought or deed divine is deem'd, In one unbounded tide, one unremitted course,

From age to age has still successive stream'd; Where Learning and where Liberty have nurst For those that in their ranks have shone the first, Their most luxuriant growth of ever-blooming bays.

In ancient days, when she the queen enda'd
With more than female fortitude,
Bonduca led her painted ranks to fight:
Oft-times in adamantine arms array'd,
Pallas descended from the realms of light,
Imperial Britonesse! thy kindred aid.

As once, all glowing from the well-fought day,
The goddess sought a cooling stream,

By chance, inviting with their glassy gleam,
Fair Isis' waters flow'd not far away.
Eager she view'd the wave,

On the cool bank she bar'd her breast,
To the soft gale her locks ambrosial gave;
And thus the watry nymph addrest:
Hear, gentle nymph, whoe'er thou art,
Thy sweet refreshing stores impart :
A Goddess from thy mossy brink
Asks of thy crystal stream to drink :
Lo! Pallas asks the friendly gift;
Thy coral-crowned tresses lift,
Rise from the wave, propitious power,
O listen from thy pearly bower!

Her accents Isis' calm attention caught,
As lonesome, in her secret cell,

In ever-varying hues, as mimic fancy taught,
She rang'd the many-tinctur'd shell :
Then from her work arose the Nais mild;
She rose, and sweetly smil'd

With many a lovely look,

That whisper'd soft consent:

She smil'd, and gave the Goddess in her flood
To dip her casque, tho' dy'd in recent blood:
While Pallas, as the boon she took,
Thus pour'd the grateful sentiment.

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