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Fond impious man, think'st thou yon sanguine


Raised by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of day?

To-morrow he repairs the golden flood,

And warms the nations with redoubled ray. Enough for me: with joy I see

The different doom our fates assign. Be thine despair, and sceptred care,

To triumph, and to die, are mine."

He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height

Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless night.



Performed in the Senate-house at Cambridge, July 1, 1769, at the Installation of the Duke of Grafton, as Chancellor of the University.


"HENCE, avaunt, ('tis holy ground)
Comus, and his midnight crew,
And Ignorance with looks profound,
And dreaming Sloth of pallid hue,

Mad Sedition's cry profane,
Servitude that hugs her chain,
Nor in these consecrated bowers

Let painted Flattery hide her serpent train in flowers.

Nor Envy base, nor creeping Gain,
Dare the Muse's walk to stain,

While bright-eyed Science watches round;
Hence, away, 'tis holy ground!"


From yonder realms of Empyrean day
Bursts on my ear the' indignant lay:
There sit the sainted sage, the bard divine,
The few, whom genius gave to shine
Through every unborn age, and undiscover'd

Rapt in celestial transport they;

Yet hither oft a glance from high
They send of tender sympathy

To bless the place, where on their opening soul
First the genuine ardour stole.

'Twas Milton struck the deep-toned shell, And, as the choral warblings round him swell, Meek Newton's self bends from his state sublime,

And nods his hoary head, and listens to the rhyme.


"Ye brown o'erarching groves,
That Contemplation loves,

Where willowy Camus lingers with delight! Oft at the blush of dawn

I trod your level lawn,

Oft woo'd the gleam of Cynthia silver bright In cloisters dim, far from the haunts of Folly, With Freedom by my side, and soft-eyed Melancholy."


But hark! the portals sound, and pacing forth
With solemn steps and slow,

High potentates, and dames of royal birth,
And mitred fathers in long orders go:
Great Edward, with the lilies on his brow
From haughty Gallia torn,

And sad Chatillon, on her bridal morn

Ver. 39.

Great Edward, with the lilies on his brow] Edward the Third, who added the fleur de lys of France to the arms of England. He founded Trinity College.

Ver. 41. And sad Chatillon, on her bridal morn] Mary de Valentia, Countess of Pembroke, daughter of Guy de Chatillon, comte de St. Paul in France; of whom tradition says, that her husband Audemar de Valentia, Earl of Pembroke, was slain at a tournament on the day of his nuptials. She was the foundress of Pembroke College or Hall, under the name of Aula Mariæ de Valentia.

That wept her bleeding Love, and princely

And Anjou's heroine, and the paler rose,
The rival of her crown and of her woes,
And either Henry there,

The murder'd saint, and the majestic lord,
That broke the bonds of Rome.
(Their tears, their little triumphs o'er,
Their human passions now no more,
Save Charity, that glows beyond the tomb.)

Ver. 42. That wept her bleeding Love, and princely Clare] Elizabeth de Burg, Countess of Clare, was wife of John de Burg, son and heir of the Earl of Ulster, and daughter of Gilbert de Clare, Earl of Gloucester, by Joan of Acres, daughter of Edward the First. Hence the poet gives her the epithet of princely. She founded Clare Hall.

Ver. 43. And Anjou's heroine, and the paler rose] Margaret of Anjou, wife of Henry the Sixth, foundress of Queen's College. The poet has celebrated her conjugal fidelity in The Bard,' epode 2d, line 13th.

Elizabeth Widville, wife of Edward the Fourth, hence called the paler rose, as being of the house of York. She added to the foundation of Margaret of Anjou.

Ver. 45. And either Henry there] Henry the Sixth and Eighth. The former the founder of King's, the latter the greatest benefactor to Trinity College.

All that on Granta's fruitful plain Rich streams of regal bounty pour'd, And bad these awful fanes and turrets rise, To hail their Fitzroy's festal morning come; And thus they speak in soft accord The liquid language of the skies:


"What is grandeur, what is power?
Heavier toil, superior pain.

What the bright reward we gain?
The grateful memory of the good.
Sweet is the breath of vernal shower,
The bee's collected treasures sweet,
Sweet music's melting fall, but sweeter yet
The still small voice of gratitude."


Foremost and leaning from her golden cloud
The venerable Margaret see!
"Welcome, my noble son, (she cries aloud)
To this, thy kindred train, and me:
Pleased in thy lineaments we trace
A Tudor's fire, a Beaufort's grace.

Ver. 66. The venerable Margaret see] Countess of Richmond and Derby; the mother of Henry the Seventh, foundress of St. John's and Christ's Colleges.

Ver. 70. A Tudor's fire, a Beaufort's grace] The Countess was a Beaufort, and married to a Tudor: hence the application of this line to the Duke of Grafton, who claims descent from both these families.


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