That wait thy balmy, happy reign, With tuneful Seraphs guard the hallow'd place. So when, at Britain's wide command, How Granta's arts with Britain's conquests swell: And Britain's glories shall inform the shell. ODE XIX. ON THE ARRIVAL AT CAMBRIDGE 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 Oft thy laurel'd sons arise, Father Camus, haste and hear! Haste, hither haste, and to thy favorite mead And Claremont's proud alcove, From Freedom's council and Britannia's king, With patriots in his train, Propt on thy sculptur'd urn behold him stray! 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, Since one excursion of the mind exceeds What various blessings flow! To thy unwearied zeal the Muses owe, Youth's rapid streams serenely roll, Even now, aspiring to the sky, A long-wish'd structure strikes my sight Piercing the vale of dark futurity! Worthy Athens, worthy Rome, Worthy Pelham's lov'd retreat, O Granta, with majestic mien While George's praises Music shall proclaim, 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 ? And raise to loftiest heights their towering fame. O Camus, thro' thy laurel shade, Tho' kings and statesmen oft have stray'd; And on thy borders, crown'd with bay, Once more exalt thy ready brows, for see! The noble and the great, The statesman and the prince, remember thee. |