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
.