O Granta! on thy happy plain Great as at this illustrious hour, When He, whom George's well weigh'd choice Have lifted to the fairest heights of power, And bids the verdure of thy olive bough And add fresh glories to his honour'd brow. Haste then, and amply o'er his head [Fame, Meanwhile the Muse shall snatch the trump of And lift her swelling accents high, To tell the world that Pelham's name Is dear to Learning as to Liberty. ODE VI. TO INDEPENDENCY. HERE, on my native shore reclined, And bid these ruffling gales of grief subside: Draws the long lustre of her silver line, [blows, While the hush'd breeze its last weak whisper And lulls old Humber to his deep repose. Come to thy votary's ardent prayer, Unsullied Honour decks thine open brow, As now o'er this lone beach I stray, The favourite swain' oft stole along, And artless wove his Dorian lay, Far from the busy throng. [string, Thou heard'st him, Goddess, strike the tender And badest his soul with bolder passions move: Soon these responsive shores forgot to ring With Beauty's praise, or plaint of slighted Love; To loftier flights his daring genius rose, And led the war 'gainst thine and Freedom's foes. Pointed with Satire's keenest steel, 2 E'en mitred Dulness learns to feel, In awful poverty his honest Muse Walks forth vindictive through a venal land: He scorns them both, and, arm'd with Truth alone, 1 Andrew Marvell, born at Kingston-upon-Hull in 1620. ? See The Rehearsal Transposed, and an account of the effect of that satire, in the Biographia Britannica, art. Marvell, Behold, like him, immortal Maid, Here at thy feet the sparks I spread: And fan them to that dazzling blaze of song, Fond youth! to Marvell's patriot fame Thy humble breast must ne'er aspire. Yet nourish still the lambent flame; Still strike thy blameless lyre: Led by the moral Muse, securely rove; And all the vernal sweets thy vacant youth Can cull from busy Fancy's fairy grove, Oh, hang their foliage round the fane of Truth: To arts like these devote thy tuneful toil, And meet its fair reward in D'Arcy's smile. "Tis he, my son, alone shall cheer At that sad hour, when all thy hopes decline, E 2 This fragrant wreath, the Muse's meed, Receive, thou favour'd son, at my command, ODE VII. TO A FRIEND. AH! cease this kind persuasive strain, [tongue, Soft tinkling down the moss-grown hill, While through the west, where sinks the crim son day, [banners gray? Meek Twilight slowly sails, and waves her Say, from Affliction's various source Ah! no; fair Fancy rules the song: To suit the tenor of her gurgling sighs, And sooth her throbbing breast with solemn sympathies. To thee, whose young and polish'd brow To thee yon abbey dank and lone, Yet some there are, who, free from fear, Though midnight thunders shook the pile; Thin shivering ghosts from yawning charnels throng, [along. And glance with silent sweep the shaggy vaults |