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LORD GRENVILLE'S INSTALLATION. 59
And of his iron arch the rainbow span:
Yet, while in burning characters impressed,
The poet's lesson stamps the youthful breast,
Bids the rapt boy o'er suffering virtue bleed,
Adore a brave or bless a gentle deed,
And in warm feeling from the storied page
Arise the saint, the hero, or the sage;
Such be our toil!-Nor doubt we to explore
The thorny maze of dialectic lore,
To climb the chariot of the gods, or scan
The secret workings of the soul of man;
Upborne aloft on Plato's eagle flight,
Or the slow pinion of the Stagyrite;
And those gray spoils of Herculanean pride,
If aught of yet untasted sweets they hide;
If Padua's sage be there, or art have power
To wake Menander from his secret bower;
Such be our toil!-Nor vain the labor proves,
Which Oxford honors, and which Grenville loves.
-On, eloquent and firm!-whose warning high
Rebuked the rising surge of anarchy,
When, like those brethren stars to seamen known,
In kindred splendor Pitt and Grenville shone ;
On in thy glorious course; not yet the wave
Has ceased to lash the shore, nor storm forgot to
Go on; and O, while adverse factions raise
To thy pure worth involuntary praise;
60 LORD GRENVILLE'S INSTALLATION.
While Gambia's swarthy tribes thy mercies bless,
And from thy counsels date their happiness;
Say, (for thine Isis yet recalls with pride
Thy youthful triumphs by her leafy side,)
Say, hast thou scorned, 'mid pomp, and wealth,
The sober transports of a studious hour?-
No, statesman, no!-thy patriot fire was fed
From the warm embers of the mighty dead;
And thy strong spirit's patient grasp combined
The souls of ages in a single mind.
-By arts like these, amidst a world of foes,
Eye of the earth, th' Athenian glory rose ;-
Thus, last and best of Romans, Brutus shone ;
Our Somers thus, and thus our Clarendon ;
Such Cobham was ;-such, Grenville, long be
Our boast before-our chief and champion now.
DESIGNED FOR A TOMB IN A SEAPORT TOWN
SAILOR, if vigor nerve thy frame,
If to high deeds thy soul is strung,
Revere this stone, that gives to fame
The brave, the virtuous, and the young.
For manly beauty decked his form,
His bright eye beamed with mental power; Resistless as the winter storm,
Yet mild as summer's mildest shower.
In war's hoarse rage, in ocean's strife,
For skill, for force, for mercy known;
Still prompt to shield a comrade's life,
And greatly careless of his own.
Yet, youthful seaman, mourn not thou
The fate these artless lines recall;
No, Cambrian, no, be thine the vow,
Like him to live, like him to fall.
But hast thou known a father's care,
Who sorrowing sent thee forth to sea; Poured for thy weal the unceasing prayer, And thought, the sleepless night, on thee?
Has e'er thy tender fancy flown,
When winds were strong and waves were
Where, listening to the tempest's moan,
Thy sisters heaved the anxious sigh?
Or in the darkest hour of dread,
'Mid war's wild din, and ocean's swell, Hast mourned a hero brother dead,
And did that brother love thee well?
Then pity those whose sorrows flow
In vain o'er Shipley's empty grave;— Sailor, thou weep'st-Indulge thy wo; Such tears will not disgrace the brave.
AN EVENING WALK IN BENGAL.
OUR task is done; on Gunga's breast
The sun is sinking down to rest;
And moored beneath the tamarind bough,
Our bark has found its harbor now.
With furled sail, and painted side,
Behold the tiny frigate ride.
Upon her deck, 'mid charcoal gleams,
The Moslems' savory supper steams,
While all apart, beneath the wood,
The Hindoo cooks his simpler food.
Come, walk with me the jungle through;
If yonder hunter told us true,
Far off, in desert dank and rude,
The tiger holds his solitude;
Nor (taught by secret charm to shun
The thunders of the English gun,)
A dreadful guest but rarely seen,
Returns to scare the village green.
Come boldly on; no venomed snake
Can shelter in so cool a brake:
Child of the sun, he loves to lie
'Mid nature's embers parched and dry,