ΤΟ ΤΗΣ

HON. CHARLES TOWNSEND,

At the University.

BY WILLIAM WHITEHEAD, ESQ.

O CHARLES, in absence hear a friend complain,
Who knows thou lov'st him wheresoe'er he goes,
Yet feels uneasy starts of idle pain,

And often would be told the thing he knows. Why then, thou loiterer, fleets the silent year, How dar'st thou give a friend unnecessary fear?

We are not now beside that osier'd stream,
Where erst we wander'd, thoughtless of the way:
We do not now of distant ages dream,

And cheat in converse half the lingʼring day ; No fancied heroes rise at our command,

And no TIMOLEON weeps, and bleeds no THEBAN band.

Yet why complain? thou feel'st no want like these,
From me, 'tis true, but me alone debarr'd,
Thou still in GRANTA's shades enjoy'st at ease
The books we reverenc'd, and the friends we
shar'd;

Nor seest without such aids the day decline,

Nor think'st how much their loss has added weight to thine.

Truth's genuine voice, the freely-opening mind,
Are thine, are friendship's, and retirement's lot;
To conversation is the world confin'd,

Friends of an hour, who please and are forgot; And int'rest stains, and vanity controls

The

pure unsullied thoughts, and sallies of our souls.

OI remember, and with pride repeat

The rapid progress which our friendship knew! Even at the first with willing minds we met,

And ere the root was fix'd the branches grew. In vain had fortune plac'd her weak barrier, Clear was thy breast from pride, and mine from servile fear.

I saw thee gen'rous, and with joy can say,
My education rose above my birth,

Thanks to those parent shades, on whose cold clay
Fall fast my tears, and lightly lie the earth!

To them I owe whate'er I dare pretend.

Thou saw'st with partial eyes, and bade me call thee friend.

Let others meanly heap the treasur'd store,

And awkward fondness cares on cares employ

To leave a race more exquisitely poor,

Possess'd of riches which they ne'er enjoy:

He's only kind who takes the noble way T'unbind the springs of thought, and give them pow'r to play.

His heirs shall bless him, and look down with scorn

On vulgar pride from vaunted heroes sprung; Lords of themselves, thank heaven that they were born

Above the sordid miser's glittʼring dung,

Above the servile grandeur of a throne.

For they are Nature's heirs, and all her works their

own.

THE

ACADEMIC.

WRITTEN APRIL MDCCLV.

At the time of the establishment of Classical Prizes, and building the new Public

Library.

BY SIR JAMES MARRIOT, BART.

WHILE silent streams the moss-grown turrets lave, Cam, on thy banks with pensive steps I tread;

The dipping osiers kiss thy passing wave,

And evening shadows o'er the plains are spread.

From restless eye of painful Care,
To thy secluded grot I fly,
Where Fancy's sweetest forms repair,
To sooth her darling Poesy ;

Reclin❜d the lovely Visionary lies

In yonder vale and laurel-vested bower; Where the gay turf is deck'd with various dies,

And breathes the mingling scents of every flower:

While holy dreams prolong her calm repose,
Her pipe is cast the whispering reeds among ;
High on the boughs her waving harp is hung;
Murmuring to every wind that o'er it blows.

Oft have I seen her bathe at dewy morn
Her wanton bosom in thy silver spring,
And, while her hands her flowing locks adorn
With busy elegance have heard her sing.

But say what long recorded theme,
Thro' all the lofty tale of time,
More worthy can the Goddess deem

Of sounding chords, and song sublime.

Than, whose parental hand to vigour bred
Each infant art, the Noble and the Wise;
Whose bounty gave yon arching shades to spread,
Yon pointed spires in holy pomp to rise?

Shall War alone loud-echoing numbers claim,
And shall the deeds of smiling Peace be drown'd,
Amid the Hero's shouts and trumpet's sound?
These too shall flourish in immortal fame.

When Science fled from Latium's polish'd coasts And Grecian groves, her long and lov'd abode, Far from the din of fierce conflicting hosts,

Thro' barbarous realms the weary wanderer trod;