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Here Truth's collected beams first fill'd his mind,
Proud of this wondrous son, sublime I stood (While louder surges swelld my, rapid flood); Then, vain as Niobe, exulting cried, Ilissus! roll thy fam’d Athenian tide; Tho'Plato’ssteps oft mark’d thy neighb’ring glade, Tho' fair Lycæum lent its awful shade, Tho'every Academic green impress'd Its image full on thy reflecting breast, Yet my pure stream shall boast as proud a name, And Britain's Isis flow with Attic fame.
Alas! how chang’d! where now that Attic boast? See! Gothic Licence rage o'er all my coast; See! Hydra Faction spread its impious reign, Poison each breast, and madden ev'ry brain: Hence frontless crowds, that, not content to fright The blushing Cynthia from her throne of night,
Blast the fair face of day; and, madly bold,
Are these the sons my fost'ring breast must rear, Grac'd with my name, and nurtur'd by my care? Must these go forth from my maternal hand To deal their insults through a peaceful land; And boast, while Freedom bleeds, and Virtue
groans, That “ Isis taught Rebellion to her sons."
Forbid it, Heaven! and let my rising waves
TRIUMPH OF ISIS..
OCCASIONED BY “ ISIS," AN ELEGY.
BY T. WHARTON.
Quid mihi nescio quam, proprio cum Tybride, Romam
ON closing flow'rs when genial gales diffuse
As the smooth surface of the dimply flood The silver-slipper'd virgin lightly trod; From her loose hair the dropping dew she press’d, And thus mine ear in accents mild address’d:
No more, my son, the rural reed employ, Nor trill the tinkling strain of empty joy ; No more thy love-resounding sonnets suit To notes of pastoral pipe or oaten flute. For hark! high-thron’d on yon majestic walls, To the dear Muse afflicted Freedom calls: When Freedom calls, and Oxford bids thee sing, Why stays thy hand to strike the sounding string? While thus, in Freedom's and in Phæbus' spite, The venal sons of slavish Cam unite ; To shake yon towers when malice rears her crest, Shall all my sons in silence idly rest ?