Oxford, a Poem

"Unum opus eft intactæ Palladis urbem "Carmine perpetuo celebrare"——4HOR. I. Ode vii.

hilst you my Lord adorn that stately seat Where shining Beauty makes her soft retreat, Enjoying all those graces uncontroll'd Which noblest youths would die but to behold, Whilst you inhabit Lowther's awful pile, A structure worthy of the founder's toil, Amaz'd we see the former Lonsdale shine In each descendant of his noble line, But most transported and surpris'd we view His ancient glories all reviv'd in you, Where charms and virtues join their equal grace, Your father's godlike soul, your mother's lovely face. Me Fortune and kind Heav'n's indulgent care To famous Oxford and the Muses bear, Where of all ranks the blooming youths combine To pay due homage to the mighty Nine, And snatch with smiling joy the laurel crown Due to the learned honours of the gown: Here I the meanest of the tuneful throng Delude the time with an unhallow'd song, Which thus my thanks to much lov'd Oxford pays In no ungrateful tho' unartful lays. Where shall I first the beauteous scene disclose, And all the gay variety expose? For wheresoe'er I turn my wond'ring eyes Aspiring tow'rs and verdant groves arise, Immortal greens the smiling plains array, And mazy rivers murmur all the way. O! might your eyes behold each sparkling dome, And freely o'er the beauteous prospect roam, Less ravish'd your own Lowther you'd survey, Tho' pomp and state the costly seat display, Where Art so nicely has adorn'd the place That Nature's aid might seem an useless grace, Yet Nature's smiles such various charms impart That vain and needless are the strokes of Art. In equal state our rising structures shine, Fram'd by such rules and form'd by such design That here at once surpris'd and pleas'd we view Old Athens lost and conquer'd in the new; More sweet our shades more fit our bright abodes For warbling Muses and inspiring gods. Great Vanbrug's self might own each artful draught Equal to models in his curious thought, Nor scorn a fabrick by our plans to frame, Or in immortal labours sing their fame: Both ways he saves them from destroying Fate If he but praise them or but imitate. See where the sacred Sheldon's haughty dome Rivals the stately pomp of ancient Rome Whose form so great and noble seems design'd T' express the grandeur of its founder's mind: Here in one lofty building we behold Whate'er the Latian pride could boast of old. True no dire combats feed the savage eye And strew the sand with sportive cruelty, But more adorn'd with what the Muse inspires It far outshines their bloody theatres. Delightful Scene! when here in equal verse The youthful bards their godlike queen rehearse, To Churchill's wreaths Apollo's laurel join, And sing the plains of Hockstet and Judoign. Next let the Muse record our Bodley's seat, Nor aim at numbers like the subject great. All hail! thou Fabrick sacred to the Nine, Thy fame immortal and thy form divine! Who to thy praise attemps the dang'rous flight Should in thy various tongues be taught to write, His verse like thee a lofty dress should wear, And breathe the genius which inhabits there; Thy proper lays alone can make thee live And pay that fame which first thyself didst give: So fountains which thro' secret channels flow, And pour above the floods they take below, Back to their father Ocean urge their way, And to the sea the streams it gave repay. No more we fear the military rage Nurs'd up in some obscure barbarian age, Nor dread the ruin of our arts divine From thickscull'd heroes of the Gothick line, Tho' pale the Romans saw those arms advance, And wept their learning lost in ignorance. Let brutal rage around its terrours spread, The living murder and consume the dead, In impious fires let noblest writings burn, And with their authors share a common urn, Only, ye Fates! our lov'd Bodleian spare, Be It and Learning's self shall be your care; Here ev'ry art and ev'ry grace shall join, Collected Phœbus here alone shall shine, Each other seat be dark and this be all divine. Thus when the Greeks imperial Troy defac'd, And to the ground its fatal walls debas'd, In vain they burn the work of hands divine, And vow destruction to the Dardan line, Whilst good Æneas flies th' unequal wars, And with his guardian gods Iülus bears; Old Troy for ever stands in him alone, And all the Phrygian kings survive in one. Here still presides each sage's rev'rend shade, In soft repose and easy grandeur laid; Their deathless works forbid their fame to die, Nor Time itself their persons shall destroy, Preserv'd within the living Gallery. What greater gift could bounteous Heav'n bestow Than to be seen above and read below? With deep respect I bend my duteous head To see the faithful likeness of the dead; But O! what Muse can equal warmth impart? The painter's skill transcends the poet's art. When round the pictur'd founders I descry, With goodness soft and great with majesty, So much of life the artful colours give, Scarce more within their colleges they live; My blood begins in wilder rounds to roll, And pleasing tumults combat in my soul, An humble awe my downcast eyes betray, And only less than adoration pay. Such were the Roman Fathers when o'ercome They saw the Gauls insult o'er conquer'd Rome, Each captive seem'd the haughty victor's lord, And prostrate chiefs their awful slaves ador'd. Such art as this adorns your Lowther's Hall, Where feasting gods carouse upon the wall; The nectar which creating paint supplies Intoxicates each pleas'd spectator's eyes, Who view amaz'd the figures heav'nly fair, And think they breathe the true Elysian air: With strokes so bold great Verrio's hand has drawn The gods in dwellings brighter than their own. Fir'd with a thousand raptures I behold What lively features grac'd each bard of old; Such lips I think did guide his charming tongue, In such an air as this the poet sung, Such eyes as these glow'd with the sacred fire, And hands like these employ'd the vocal lyre. Quite ravish'd I pursue each image o'er, And scarce admire their deathless labours more. See, where the gloomy Scaliger appears Each shade is critick and each feature sneers! The artful Ben so smartly strikes the eye I more than see a fancy'd comedy; The muddy Scotus crowns the motley show, And metaphysicks cloud his wrinkled brow; But distant awe invades my beating breast To see great Ormond in the paint exprest; With fear I view the figure from afar Which burns with noble ardour for the war; But near approaches free my doubting mind, To view such sweetness with such grandeur join'd. Here studious heads the graver tablet shows, And there with martial warmth the picture glows; The blooming youth here boasts a brighter hue, And painted virgins far outshine the true. Hail, Colours which with Nature bear a strife, And only want a voice to perfect life! The wond'ring stranger makes a sudden stand, And pays low homage to the lovely band, Within each frame a real fair believes, And vainly thinks the mimick canvass lives, Till undeceiv'd he quits th' enchanting show Pleas'd with the art tho' he laments it too. So when his Juno bold Ixion woo'd, And aim'd at pleasures worthy of a god, A beauteous cloud was form'd by angry Jove Fit to invite tho' not indulge his love; The mortal thought he saw his goddess shine, And all the lying Graces look'd divine, But when with heat he clasp'd her fancy'd charms The empty vapour baulk'd his eager arms. Loth to depart I leave th' inviting scene, Yet scarce forbear to view it o'er again, But still new objects give a new delight, sit And various prospects bless the wand'ring fight. Aloft in state the airy tow'rs arise, And with new lustre deck the wond'ring skies. Lo, to what height the schools ascending reach! Built with that art which they alone can teach; The lofty dome expands her spacious gate Where all the decent Graces jointly wait; In ev'ry shape the god of Art resorts, And crowds of fages fill th' extended courts. With wonders fraught the bright Museum see, Itself the greatest curiosity, Where Nature's choicest treasure all combin'd Delight at once and quite confound the mind; Ten thousand splendours strike the dazzled eye, And form on earth another Galaxy. Here colleges in sweet confusion rise, There temples seem to reach their native skies; Spires tow'rs and groves compose the various shew, And mingled prospects charm the doubting view. Who can deny their characters divine, Without resplendent and inspir'd within? But since above my weak and artless lays Let their own poets sing their equal praise. One labour more my grateful Verse renews, And rears aloft the low descending Muse; The building parent of my young essays Asks in return a tributary praise. Pillars sublime bear up the learned weight, And antique sages tread the pompous height, Whilst guardian Muses shade the happy piles, And all around diffuse propitious smiles. Here Lancaster, adorn'd with ev'ry grace, Stands chief in merit as the chief in place: To his lov'd name our earliest lays belong, The theme at once and patron of our song: Long may he o'er his much lov'd Queen's preside, Our arts encourage and our counsels guide, Till after ages fill'd with glad surprise Behold his image all majestick rise. Where now in pomp a venerable band, Princes, and queens, and holy fathers, stand, Good Egglesfield claims homage from the eye, And the hard stone seems soft with piety; The mighty monarchs still the same appear, And ev'ry marble frown provokes the war; Whilst rugged rocks mark'd with Philippa's face Soften to charms, and glow with newborn grace. A sight less noble did the warriours yield Transform'd to statues by the Gorgon shield; Distorting fear the coward's form confest, And fury seem'd to heave the hero's breast; The lifeless rocks each various thought betray'd, And all the soul was in the stone display'd. Too high, my Verse! has been thy daring flight, Thy softer numbers now the groves invite, Where silent shades provoke the speaking lyre, And cheerful objects happy songs inspire, At once bestow rewards and thoughts infuse, Compose a garland and supply a Muse. Behold around, and see the living green In native colours paints a blooming scene; Th' eternal buds no deadly winter fear, But scorn the coldest season of the year; Apollo sure will bless the happy place Which his own Daphne condescends to grace, For here the everlasting laurels grow In ev'ry grotto and on ev'ry brow. Prospects so gay demand a Congreve's strains To call the gods and nymphs upon the plains; Pan yields his empire o'er the sylvan throng, Pleas'd to submit to his superiour song, Great Denham's genius looks with rapture down, And Spenser's shade resigns the rural crown. Fill'd with great thoughts a thousand sages rove Thro' ev'ry field and solitary grove, Whose souls ascending an exalted height Outsoar the drooping Muse's vulgar flight, That longs to see her darling vot'ries laid Beneath the covert of some gentle shade, Where purling streams and warbling birds conspire To aid th' enchantments of the trembling lyre. Bear me, some god, to Christ-church, royal seat! And lay me softly in the green retreat Where Aldrich holds o'er wit the sov'reign pow'r, And crowns the poets which he taught before. To Aldrich Britain owes her tuneful Boyle, The noblest trophy of the conquer'd isle, Who adds new warmth to our poetick fire, And gives to England the Hibernian lyre. Philips by Phœbus and his Aldrich taught Sings with that heat wherewith his Churchill fought; Unfetter'd in great Milton's strain he writes, Like Milton's angels whilst his hero fights Pursues the bard whilst he with honour can, Equals the poet and excels the man. O'er all the plains, the streams, and woods, around The pleasing lays of sweetest bards resound, A faithful echo ev'ry note returns, And list'ning river-gods neglect their urns. When Codrington and Steele their verse unrein, And form an easy unaffected strain, A double wreath of laurel binds their brow, As they are poets and are warriours too. Trapp's lofty scenes in gentle numbers flow, Like Dryden great, as soft as moving Rowe. When youthful Harrison with tuneful skill Makes Woodstock Park scarce yield to Cooper's Hill, Old Chaucer from th' Elysian Fields looks down, And sees at length a genius like his own; Charm'd with his lays which reach the shades below Fair Rosamonda intermits her wo, Forgets the anguish of an injur'd soul, The fatal poniard and envenom'd bowl. Apollo smiles on Magd'len's peaceful bow'rs, Perfumes the air and paints the grot with flow'rs Where Yalden learn'd to gain the myrtle crown, And ev'ry Muse was fond of Addison. Applauded Man! for weightier trusts design'd, For once disdain not to unbend thy mind; Thy mother Isis and her groves rehearse, A subject not unworthy of thy verse; So Latian fields will cease to boast thy praise, And yield to Oxford painted in thy lays; And when the age to come, from envy free, What thou to Virgil giv'st shall give to thee, Isis immortal by the poet's fill "Shall in the smooth description murmur still," New beauties shall adorn our sylvan scene, And in thy numbers grow for ever green. Danby's fam'd gift such verse as thine requires, Exalted raptures and celestial fires; Apollo here should plenteously impart As well his singing as his curing art. Nature herself the healing Garden loves Which kindly her declining strength improves, Baffles the strokes of unrelenting Death, Can break his arrows and can blunt his teeth. How sweet the landscape! where in living trees Here frowns a vegetable Hercules, There fam'd Achilles learns to live again, And looks yet angry in the mimick scene, Here artful birds which blooming arbours show Seem to fly higher whilst they upwards grow; From the same leaves both arms and warriours rise, And ev'ry bough a diff'rent charm supplies. So when our world the great Creator made, And unadorn'd the sluggish Chaos laid, Horrour and Beauty own'd their fire the same, And Form itself from Parent Matter came; That lumpish mass alone was source of all, And bards and themes had one original. In vain the groves demand my longer stay, The gentle Isis wafts the Muse away. With ease the river guides her wand'ring stream, And hastes to mingle with uxorious Thame; Attempting poets on her banks lie down, And quaff inspir'd the better Helicon; Harmonious strains adorn their various themes, Sweet as the banks and flowing as the streams. Bless'd we whom bounteous Fortune here has thrown, And made the various blessings all our own! Nor crowns nor globes, the pageantry of state, Upon our humble easy slumbers wait, Nor aught that is Ambition's lofty theme Disturbs our sleep and gilds the gaudy dream. Touch'd by no ills which vex th' unhappy great We only read the changes in the state, Triumphant Marlb'rough's arms at distance hear, And learn from Fame the rough events of war, With pointed rhymes the Gallick tyrant pierce, And make the cannon thunder in our verse. See how the matchless youth their hours improve, And in the glorious way to knowledge move! Eager for fame prevent the rising sun, And watch the midnight labours of the moon. Not tender years their bold attempts restrain Who leave dull Time and hasten into man, Pure to the soul and pleasing to the eyes, Like angels youthful and like angels wise, Some learn the mighty deeds of ages gone, And by the lives of heroes form their own; Now view the Granique chok'd with heaps of slain, And warring worlds on the Pharsalian plain; Now hear the trumpets' clangour from afar, And all the dreadful harmony of war; Now trace those secret tricks that lost a state, And search the fine-spun arts that made it great; Correct those errours that its ruin bred, And bid some long lost empire rear its ancient head. Others, to whom persuasive arts belong, (Words in their looks and musick on their tongue) Instructed by the wit of Greece and Rome Learn richly to adorn their native home, Whilst list'ning crowds confess the sweet surprise With pleasure in their breasts and wonder in their eyes. Here curious minds the latent seeds disclose, And Nature's darkest labyrinths expose, Whilst greater souls the distant worlds descry, Pierce to the outstretch'd borders of the sky, Enlarge the searching mind and broad expand the eye. O you whose rising years so great began, In whose bright youth I read the shining man, O Lonsdale! know what noblest minds approve, The thoughts they cherish and the arts they love; Let these examples your young bosom fire, And bid your soul to boundless height aspire. Methinks I see you in our shades retir'd, Alike admiring and by all admir'd: Your eloquence now charms my ravish'd ear, Which future senates shall transported hear; Now mournful verse inspires a pleasing wo, And now your cheeks with warlike fury glow; Whilst on the paper fancy'd fields appear And prospects of imaginary war, Your martial soul sees Hockster's fatal plain, Or fights the fam'd Ramillia o'er again. But I in vain these lofty names rehearse, Above the faint attempts of humble verse, Which Garth should in immortal strains design, Or Addison exalt with warmth divine: A meaner song my tender voice requires, And fainter lays confess the fainter fires, By Nature fitted for an humble theme, A painted prospect or a murm'ring stream, To tune a vulgar note in Echo's praise, Whilst Echo's self resounds the flatt'ring lays, Or whilst I tell how Myra's charms surprise Paint roses on her cheeks and suns within her eyes. O! did proportion'd height to me belong Great Anna's name should grace th' ambitious song, Illustrious dames should round their queen resort, And Lonsdale's mother crown the splendid court; Her noble son should boast no vulgar place, But share the ancient honours of his race, Whilst each fair daughter's face and conq'ring eyes To Venus only should submit the prize. O matchless Beauties, more than heav'nly fair, Your looks resistless and divine your air! Let your bright eyes their bounteous beams diffuse, And no fond bard shall ask an useless Muse; Their kindling rays excite a noble fire, Give beauty to the song and musick to the lyre. This charming theme I ever could pursue, And think the inspiration ever new, Did not the god my wand'ring pen restrain, And bring me to his Oxford back again. Oxford! the goddess Muse's native home, Inspir'd like Athens and adorn'd like Rome, Hadst thou of old been Learning's fam'd retreat, And Pagan Muses chose thy lovely seat, O how unbounded had their fiction been! What fancy'd visions had adorn'd the scene! Upon each hill a sylvan Pan had stood, And ev'ry thicket boasted of a god, Satyrs had frisk'd in each poetick grove, And not a stream without its Nymphs could move; Each summit had the train of Muses show'd, And Hippocrene in ev'ry fountain flow'd: The tales adorn'd with each poetick grace Had look'd almost as charming as the place. Ev'n now we hear the world with transports own Those fictions by more wondrous truths outdone. Here pure Eusebia keeps her holy seat, And Themis smiles from heav'n on this retreat; Our chaster Graces own refin'd desires, And all our Muses burn with Vestal fires; Whilst guardian angels our Apollos stand, Scatt'ring rich favours with a bounteous hand To bless the happy air and sanctify the land. O pleasing Shades! O ever green Retreats! Ye learned Grottoes and ye sacred Seats! Never may you politer arts refuse, But entertain in peace the bashful Muse! So may you be kind Heav'n's distinguish'd care, And may your fame be lasting as it is fair! Let greater bards on fam'd Parnassus dream, Or taste th' inspiring Heliconian stream, Yet whilst our Oxford is the bless'd abode Of ev'ry Muse and ev'ry tuneful god Parnassus owns its honours far outdone, And Isis boasts more bards than Helicon. A thousand blessings I to Oxford owe, But you my Lord th' inspiring Muse bestow: Grac'd with your name th' unpolish'd poem shines; You guard its faults and consecrate the lines: O! might you here meet my desiring eyes My drooping song to nobler heights wou'd rise; Or might I come to breathe your northern air Yet should I find an equal pleasure there; Your presence would the harsher climate sooth, Hush ev'ry wind and ev'ry mountain smooth, Would bid the groves in springing pomp arise, And open charming vistas to the eyes, Would make my trifling verse be heard around, And sportive Echo play the empty sound: With you I should a better Phœbus find, And own in you alone the charms of Oxford join'd.