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That wait thy balmy, happy reign,
With tuneful Seraphs guard the hallow'd place.

So when, at Britain's wide command,

The Austrian Eagle learns to fear, The pile to thee shall sacred stand,

Thy genial empire founded here. Then every arch, with faithful verse

Inscrib’d, shall joyfully rehearse How Granta's arts with Britain's conquests swell:

Then thou, beneath her guardian wing,

To either praise shalt tune the string, And Britain's glories shall inform the shell.

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OF HIS GRACE
THOMAS HOLLES, DUKE OF NEWCASTLE,
CHANCELLOR OF THAT UNIVERSITY,

JUNE 14, 1753.

BY JOHN DUNCOMBE, M.A.

From the moss-grown coral cave
Circled by the silver wave,
Where, to thy adoring eyes,
Oft thy laurel'd sons arise,

Father Camus, haste and hear!
Haste, hither haste, and to thy favorite mead
The blithesome band of sister Naiads lead!
For see! from rural joys and public cares,

From Esher's peaceful grove,

And Ciaremont's proud alcove,
From Freedom's council and Britannia's king,

Once more to thy Castalian spring
The guardian of the Muse repairs :
O'er yon embroider'd plain,
With patriots in his train,

Propt on thy sculptur’d urn behold him stray!

When Athens called, could Rome detain,

Or Tusculum delay?
Haste then, and hail the happy hour

That to thy fragrant bower,

To Granta and the Nine, Such sons, such patriots gave, and made a Holles thine.

In some sequester'd shade,

Attended by the tuneful maid,
Pleas'd let me catch the plausive song
Of all the sister arts that round him throng,
When, with a golden emblematic prize,

He decks each blushing youth,
Who conquer'd in the lists of fame,
By Science favor’d, and approv'd by Truth:
Since strength of genius far outvies

The body's brutal force,
Since one excursion of the mind exceeds
The swiftest sallies of victorious steeds,

Less glorious were the boughs,
Which, at the boasted Grecian games,
Adorn’d a Theron's or a Hiero's brows,
Tho' Pindar's lofty lays immortalize their names.
From thee, great friend of virtue's cause,

What various blessings flow!
To thy unwearied zeal the Muses owe,

That, check'd with just control
By salutary laws,

Youth's rapid streams serenely roll,
For Discipline resumes her wide command,
And dauntless rules with unrelaxing hand.

Even now, aspiring to the sky,
A long-wish'd structure strikes my sight

With wonder and delight,
Piercing the vale of dark futurity!
For soon shall Camus' glassy stream

Reflect a rising dome,
Worthy Athens, worthy Rome,
Worthy Phoebus' blissful seat,

Worthy Pelham's lov'd retreat,
The Muse's glory, and the Poet's theme.

O Granta, with majestic mien
Advance, and hail the sacred scene!
Let Music leave her airy tower,

And breathe the softest strains;
Let Fragrance quit her myrtle bower,

And range the flowery plains:
She shall her choicest incense shed

Round Holles' honor'd head,
While George's raises Music shall proclaim,
And warble to the groves their sovereign's name.

Shall we our tributary lays deny,

When he, still mindful of the Nine,
(Who long have left their native sky,

Charm’d with the glories of the Brunswick line)

Pours forth his treasures, to complete

The grandeur of their favorite seat ; And bids their domes with Parian lustre shine ? His bright example shall their sons inspire,

The great, the wealthy fire, And raise to loftiest heights their towering fame.

O Camus, thro' thy laurel shade,
Tho'kings and statesmen oft have stray'd;
Tho' in these groves, with patriot hand,
Sage Burleigh bore the olive wand,
And on thy borders, crown'd with bay,

Eliza heard the Muse's lay ;
Once more exalt thy ready brows, for see !

Tho'charg'd with Europe's fate,

The noble and the great, The statesman and the prince, remember thee.

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