With rapture unreproved the patriot breast!

Robed in her many-colour'd vest

On Isis' banks shall Science stand,
Waving in her bounteous hand

A wond'rous chaplet; high reward

Of toils, by public virtue dared :

And while to claim the envied meed

Fair Fame her vot'ries leads, thy voice,

O Muse, shall join th' applauded choice

That fix'd the glorious wreath on FREDERICK'S

honour'd head!

VERSES

INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SPOKEN IN THE THEATRE TO THE DUKE OF PORTLAND, AT HIS INSTALLATION AS CHANCELLOR OF THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD, IN THE YEAR 1793.

IN evil hour, and with unhallow'd voice,
Profaning the pure gift of Poesy,

Did he begin to sing, He, first who sung
Of arms and combats, and the proud array
Of warriors on th' embattled plain, and raised
Th' aspiring spirit to hopes of fair renown

By deeds of violence!-For since that time.

Th' imperious victor oft, unsatisfied

With bloody spoil and tyrannous conquest, dares

To challenge fame and honour; and too oft

The poet, bending low, to lawless pow'r

Hath paid unseemly reverence, yea, and brought Streams clearest of th' Aonian fount to wash

Blood-stain'd Ambition. If the stroke of war

Fell certain on the guilty head, none else,

If they that make the cause might taste th' effect, And drink, themselves, the bitter cup they mix, Then might the bard (tho' child of peace) delight To twine fresh wreaths around the Conqueror's

brow;

Or haply strike his high-toned harp, to swell

The trumpet's martial sound, and bid them on

Whom Justice arms for vengeance: but, alas!

That undistinguishing and deathful storm

Beats heaviest on th' exposed innocent,

And they that stir its fury, while it raves,

Stand at safe distance, send their mandate forth

Unto the mortal ministers that wait

To do their bidding.-Ah! who then regards The widow's tears, the friendless orphan's cry, And Famine, and the ghastly train of woes That follow at the dogged heels of War?

They, in the pomp and pride of victory

Rejoicing, o'er the desolated earth,

As at an altar wet with human blood,

And flaming with the fire of cities burnt,

Sing their mad hymns of triumph; hymns to God,

O'er the destruction of his gracious works!

Hymns to the Father, o'er his slaughter'd sons!

Detested be their sword! abhorr'd their name,

And scorn'd the tongues that praise them!— Happier Thou,

Of peace and science friend, hast held thy course

Blameless and pure; and such is thy renown.

And let that secret voice within thy breast

Approve thee, then shall these high sounds of

praise

Which thou hast heard be as sweet harmony,