ON THE DEATH OF KING GEORGE THE SECOND , AND ACCESSION OF KING GEORGE THE THIRD . ADDRESSED TO WILLIAM PITT , ESQ . BEING THE CONCLUDING COPY OF OXFORD VERSES . BY THE SAME . SO stream the sorrows that embalm the brave , The tears that Science sheds on Glory's grave ! So pure the vews which classic duty pays To bless another Brunswick's rising rays ! — O Pitt ! if chosen strains have power to steal Thy watchful breast awhile from Britain's weal ; If votive verse , from sacred Isis sent , Might hope to charm thy manly mind , intent On patriot plans which ancient Freedom drew , Awhile with sond attention deign to view This ample wreath , which all th' assembled Nine With skill united have conspir'd to twine . Yes , guide and guardian of thy country's cause ! Thy conscious heart shall hail with just applause The duteous Muse , whose haste officious brings Her blameless offering to the shrine of kings : Thy tongue well tutor'd in historic lore , Can speak her office and her use of yore : For such the tribute of ingenuous praise Her harp dispensed in Graecia's golden days ; Such were the palms , in isles of old renown , She cull'd to deck the guiltless monarch's crown ; When virtuous Pindar , told with Tuscan gore How scepter'd Hiero stain'd Sicilia's shore , Or to mild Theron's raptur'd eye disclos'd Bright vales where spirits of the brave repos'd : Yet still beneath the throne , unbrib'd she sate , The decent hand-maid , not the slave of state ; Pleas'd in the radiance of the regal name To blend the lustre of her country's fame : For , taught like ours , she dar'd with prudent pride , Obedience from dependance to divide : Tho' princes claim'd her tributary lays , With truth severe she temper'd partial praise ; Conscious she kept her native dignity , Bold as her flights , and as her numbers free . And sure if e'er the Muse indulg'd her strains , With just regard , to grace heroic reigns , Where could her glance a theme of triumph own So dear to same as George's trophied throne ? At whose firm base , thy stedfast soul aspires To wake a mighty nation's ancient fires : Aspires to baffle faction's specious claim , Rouse England's rage , and give her thunder aim : Once more the main her conquering banners sweep , Again her commerce darkens all the deep . Thy fix'd resolve renews each fair decree , That made , that kept of yore , thy country free . Call'd by thy voice , nor deaf to war's alarms , Its willing youth the rural empire arms : Again the lords of Albion's cultur'd plains March the firm leaders of their faithful swains ; As erst stout archers from the farm or fold , Flam'd in the van of many a baron bold . Nor thine the pomp of indolent debate , The war of words , the sophistries of state ; Nor frigid caution checks thy free design , Nor stops thy stream of eloquence divine : For thine the privilege , on few bestow'd , To feel , to think , to speak for public good . In vain Corruption calls her venal tribes ; One common cause , one common end prescribes ; Nor fear nor fraud , or spares or screens the foe , But spirit prompts , and valour strikes the blow . O Pitt , while honour points thy liberal plan , And o'er the minister exalts the man , Isis congenial greets thy faithful sway , Nor scorns to bid a statesman grace her lay ; For science still is justly fond to blend , With thine , her practice , principles , and end . 'Tis not for her , by false connections drawn , At splendid Slavery's fordid shrine to fawn ; Each native effort of the feeling breast To friends , to foes , in servile fear , supprest : 'Tis not for her to purchase or pursue The phantom favours of the cringing crew ; More useful toils her studious hours engage , And fairer lessons fill her spotless page : Beneath ambition , but above disgrace , With nobler arts she forms the rising race : With happier tasks , and less refin'd pretence , In elder times she woo'd Munificence To rear her arched roofs in regal guise , And lift her temples nearer to the skies ; Princes and prelates stretch'd the social band , To form , diffuse , and fix her high command : From kings she claim'd , yet scorn'd to seek the prize , From kings , like George , benignant , just , and wise . Lo , this her genuine lore . — Nor thou refuse This humble present of no partial muse From that calm bower , which nurs'd thy thoughtful youth In the pure precepts of Athenian truth : Where first the form of British Liberty Beam'd in full radiance on thy musing eye : That form , whose mien sublime , with equal awe , In the same shade unblemish'd Somers saw : Where once ( for well she lov'd the friendly grove Which every classic Grace had learn'd to rove ) Her whispers wak'd sage Harrington to feign The blessings of her visionary reign ; That reign , which now no more an empty theme , Adorns philosophy's ideal dream , But crowns at last , beneath a George's smile , In full reality this favour'd isle .