ODE FOR MUSIC. PERFORMED AT THE THEATRE IN OXFORD, ON THE SECOND OF JULY, MDCCLI, BEING THE ANNIVERSARY APPOINTED BY THE LATE LORD CREW, BISHOP OF DURHAM, FOR THE COMMEMORATION OF BENEFACTORS TO THE UNIVERSITY. BY THE SAME. I. WHERE shall the muse, that on the sacred shell Of men in arts and arms renown'd The solemn strain delights to swell; O! where shall Clio chuse a race, Whom fame with every laurel, every grace, Like those of Albion's envied isle, has crown'd? Daughter and mistress of the sea, All-honour'd Albion, hail! Where-e'er thy commerce spreads the swelling sail, Ne'er shall she find a land like thee, So brave, so learned, and so free; All-honour'd Albion, hail! II. But in the princely land of all that's good and great, Would Clio seek the most distinguish'd seat, Most blest, where all is so sublimely blest, That with superior grace o'erlooks the rest, Like a rich gem in circling gold enshrin'd; Where Isis' waters wind Along the sweetest shore That ever felt fair Culture's hands, Or Spring's embroider'd mantle wore, Lo! where majestic Oxford stands; Virtue's awful throne! Wisdom's immortal source! Thee well her best belov'd may boasting Albion own, Whence each fair purpose of ingenuous praise, All that in thought or deed divine is deem'd, In one unbounded tide, one unremitted course, From age to age has still successive stream'd; Where Learning and where Liberty have nurst, For those that in their ranks have shone the first, Their most luxuriant growth of ever-blooming bays. III. In ancient days, when she the queen endu'd With more than female fortitude, Bonduca led her painted ranks to fight; Oft-times, in adamantine arms array'd, Pallas descended from the realms of light, Imperial Britonesse! thy kindred aid, As once, all-glowing from the well-fought day, The goddess sought a cooling stream, By chance, inviting with their glassy gleam, Fair Isis' waters flow'd not far away. Eager she view'd the wave, On the cool bank she bar'd her breast, To the soft gale her locks ambrosial gave; And thus the watry nymph addrest. Hear, gentle nymph, whoe'er thou art, Thy sweet refreshing stores impart: A Goddess from thy mossy brink Asks of thy crystal stream to drink: Lo! Pallas asks the friendly gift; Thy coral crowned tresses lift, Rise from the wave, propitious power, O listen from thy pearly bower! IV. Her accents Isis' calm attention caught, As lonesome, in her secret cell, In ever-varying hues, as mimic fancy taught, She rang'd the many-tinctur'd shell: Then from her work arose the Nais mild; She rose, and sweetly smil'd With many a lovely look, That whisper'd soft consent: She smil'd, and gave the Goddess in her flood To dip her casque, tho' dy'd in recent blood; While Pallas, as the boon she took, Thus pour'd the grateful sentiment. For this, thy flood the fairest name Of all Britannia's streams shall glide, Best favourite of the sons of fame, Of every tuneful breast the pride: For on thy borders, bounteous queen, Where now the cowslip paints the green With unregarded grace, Her wanton herds where nature feeds, As lonesome o'er the breezy reeds She bends her silent pace; Lo! there, to wisdom's goddess dear, A far-fam'd city shall her turrets rear, There all her force shall Pallas prove; Of classic leaf with every crown, Each olive, meed of old renown, Each ancient wreath, which Athens wove, I'll bid her blooming bowers abound; And Oxford's sacred seats shall tower To thee, mild Nais of the flood, The trophy of my gratitude! The temple of my power! V. Nor was the pious promise vain; Soon illustrious Alfred came, And pitch'd fair Wisdom's tent on Isis' plenteous plain. Alfred, on thee shall all the muses wait, Alfred, majestic name! Of all our praise the spring! Thee all thy suns shall sing, Deck'd with the marshal and the civic wreath; In notes most awful shall the trumpet breathe To thee, great Romulus of Learning's richest stare. VI. Nor Alfred's bounteous hand alone, Oxford, thy rising temples own: Soon many a man munificent, The prince, the prelate, laurel-crown'd crowd, Their ample bounty lent To build the beauteous monument, That Pallas vow'd. And now she lifts her head sublime Majestic in the moss of time; Nor wants there Grecia's better part. 'Mid the proud piles of antient art, Whose fretted spires, with ruder hand, Wainfleet and Wickham bravely plann'd; Nor decent Doric to dispense New charms 'mid old magnificence; And here and there soft Corinth weares Her daedal coronet of leaves; While, as with rival pride their towers invade the sky, Radcliffe and Bodley seem to rye, Which shall deserve the foremost place, Or Gothic strength, or Attic grace. VII. O Isis! ever will I chant thy praise: Not that thy sons have struck the golden lyre With hands most skilful; have their brows entwin'd With every fairest flower of Helicon, The sweetest swans of all th' harmonious choir; Have bad the musing mind Of every science pierce the pathless ways, And from the rest the wreath of wisdom won; But that thy sons have dar'd to feel For Freedom's cause a sacred zeal; With British breast, and patriot pride, Have still Corruption's cup defy'd; In dangerous days untaught to fear, Have held the name of honour dear. VIII. But chief of this illustrious day, The Muse her loudest Paeans loves to pay. Ere while she strove with accents weak In vain to build the lofty rhyme; At length, by better days of bounty chear'd, She dares unfold her wing. Hail hour of transport most sublime! In which, the man rever'd Immortal Crew commands to sing, And gives the pipe to breathe, the string to speak. IX. Blest prelate, hail! Most pious patron, most triumphant theme! From whose auspicious hand On Isis' towers new beauties beam, New praise her nursing fathers gain; Immortal Crew! Blest prelate, hail! Ev'n now fir'd Fancy sees thee lead To Fame's high-seated fane The shouting band! O'er every hallowed head Fame's choicest wreaths she sees thee spread: Alfred superior smiles the solemn scene to view; And bids the Goddess lift Her loudest trumpet to proclaim, O Crew! thy consecrated gift, And echo with his own in social strains thy name.