THE ACADEMIC. WRITTEN APRIL M.DCC.LV. Sir James Marriott Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T116245 1137 K093079.004 Pearch, G. A collection of poems in four volumes. By several hands. Vol. IV. [The second edition]. London printed for G. Pearch 1770 pp. 28-33. 4v. ; 8⁰.

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THE ACADEMIC . WRITTEN APRIL M.DCC.LV At the time of the establishment of Classical Prizes , and building the new Public Library . BY THE SAME . I. WHILE silent streams the moss-grown turrets lave , Cam , on thy banks with pensive steps I tread ; The dipping osiers kiss thy passing wave , And evening shadows o'er the plains are spread . From restless eye of painful Care , To thy secluded grot I fly , Where Fancy's sweetest forms repair , To soothe her darling Poesy ; Reclin'd the lovely Visionary lies In yonder vale and laurel-vested bower ; Where the gay turf is deck'd with various dies , And breathes the mingling scents of every flower : While holy dreams prolong her calm repose , Her pipe is cast the whispering reeds among ; High on the boughs her waving harp is hung , Murmuring to every wind that o'er it blows . II . Oft' have I seen her bathe at dewy morn Her wanton bosom in thy silver spring , And , while her hands her flowing locks adorn With busy elegance , have heard her sing . But say what long recorded theme , Thro' all the lofty tale of time , More worthy can the Goddess deem Of sounding chords , and song sublime , Than , whose parental hand to vigour bred Each infant art , the Noble and the Wise ; Whose bounty gave yon' arching shades to spread . Yon' pointed spires in holy pomp to rise ? Shall War alone loud-echoing numbers claim , And shall the deeds of smiling Peace be drown'd , Amid the Hero's shouts and trumpet's sound ? These too shall flourish in immortal fame . III . When Science sled from Latium's polish'd coasts And Grecian groves , her long and lov'd abode , Far from the din of fierce conflicting hosts , Thro' barbarous realms the weary wanderer trod ; But to what more indulgent sky , To what more hospitable shade , Could trembling , bleeding , fainting fly The helpless and devoted Maid ? Time-honour'd Founders ! ye the virgin woo'd ! 'Twas yours , with souls to native grandeur born , To bid her radiant beauties shine renew'd , With wealth to heap , with honours to adorn . In Granta's happier paths she wept no more ; Heal'd were the wounds that scarr'd her gentle breast ; Here , still she smiles with Freedom's sons to rest ; Nor mourns her Attic towers , nor Tuscan shore . IV . Fathers of Genius ! whom the Muse adores , For sure to you her noblest strains belong , Beneath whose venerable roofs she pours The grateful notes of sweetly flowing song . Th' increase of swift revolving years With conscious pride exulting view ; How all ye plann'd complete appears ; How all your Virtues bloom anew : The generous zeal which erst ye felt remains , Its bounteous beams still ardent to dispense ; While unexhausted to your learned plains Rolls the rich stream of wide munificence . Joy to your shades ! the great career is run , Reserv'd by Fate for some superior hand , Confest , the last , th' auspicious work shall stand , And Statesman , Monarch end what ye begun . V. Ye too , once Inmates of these walls renown'd , Whose spirits , mingling with th' ethereal ray , Of universal Nature trac'd the bound , Or rais'd in majesty of thought the lay , See your lov'd Arts this clime to grace , Their rival radiance brighter shed , While Holles smiles the wreath to place Upon the youthful Victor's head . Where Spencer sits among your thrones sublime , To the soft music of his mournful lays Listening ye weep for his ungrateful time , And point the better hope of happier days . If with the dead dishonour's memory dies , Forget , much injur'd Name , th' unworthy woe ; In strains like thine so may our accents flow , In nobler numbers yon' fair domes arise . VI . When Faction's storms , or some fell Tyrant's hate Arts join'd with Freedom to one grave shall doom , Then tho' these structures to the hand of Fate Bend their proud height , like thine , imperial Rome , Know , vainly , Time , thy rapid rage Shall point its wide destroying aim , Since what defies the force of age Thus consecrates the pile to Fame ; Some future eye the ruin'd heap shall trace , The name of Holles on the stone behold , Shall point a Brunswic to a distant race , Benign , and awful on the swelling gold . Th' historic page , the poet's tuneful toil , With these compar'd , their mutual aid shall raise To build the records of eternal praise , And deck with endless wreaths their honour'd soil . VII . Sweeter than warbled sounds that win the sense Flows the glad music of a grateful heart , Beyond the pomp of wordy eloquence , Or strains too cold , high-wrought with labour'd art . Tho' weakly sounds the jarring string ; Tho' vainly would the Muse explore The heights to which with eagle wing Alone can heaven-taught Genius soar ; Yet shall her hand ingenious strive to twine The blooming chaplet for her Leader's brow ; While with new verdure grac'd , in Glory's shrine , The ampler Palms of civic Honours grow ; When he , these favour'd shades appears to bless , Whose guardian counsels guide a nation's fate , And with superior toils for Europe's state Mixes the thought of Granta's happiness . VIII . Hail seats rever'd ! where thoughtful pleasures dwell , And hovering Peace extends her downy wings , Where musing Knowledge holds her humble cell , And Truth divine unlocks her secret springs ; This verse with mild acceptance deign To hear ; this verse yourselves inspire , Ere yet within your sacred fane The Muse suspends her votive lyre . Thee , Granta , thus with filial thanks I greet , With smiles maternal thou those thanks receive , For Learning's humble wealth , for friendship sweet , For every calmer joy thy scenes could give . While thus I sport upon thy peaceful strand , The storms of life at awful distance roar ; And still I dread , still lingering on the shore , To launch my little bark , and quit the land .