AN
ODE
Inscrib'd
to
the
Right
Honourable
the
EARL
of
SUNDERLAND
at
WINDSOR
.
By
the
Same
.
I.
THOU
dome
,
where
Edward
first
enroll'd
His
red-cross
knights
and
barons
bold
,
Whose
vacant
seats
,
by
virtue
bought
,
Ambitious
emperors
have
sought
;
Where
Britain's
foremost
names
are
found
,
In
peace
belov'd
,
in
war
renown'd
,
Who
made
the
hostile
nations
moan
,
Or
brought
a
blessing
on
their
own
:
II
.
Once
more
a
son
of
SPENCER
waits
,
A
name
familiar
to
thy
gates
,
Sprung
from
the
chief
whose
prowess
gain'd
The
garter
,
while
thy
founder
reign'd
.
He
offer'd
here
his
dinted
shield
,
The
dread
of
Gauls
in
Cressi's
field
,
Which
in
thy
high-arch'd
temple
rais'd
,
For
four
long
centuries
hath
blaz'd
.
III
.
These
seats
our
sires
,
a
hardy
kind
,
To
the
fierce
sons
of
war
consign'd
,
The
flow'ry
of
chivalry
,
who
drew
With
sinewy
arm
the
stubborn
yew
;
Or
with
heav'd
poll-axe
clear'd
the
field
,
Or
who
in
jousts
and
tourneys
skill'd
,
Before
their
ladies'
eyes
renown'd
,
Threw
horse
and
horseman
to
the
ground
.
IV
.
In
after-times
,
as
courts
refin'd
,
Our
patriots
in
the
list
were
join'd
,
Nor
only
Warwick
stain'd
with
blood
,
Or
Marlb'rough
near
the
Danube's
flood
,
Have
in
their
crimson
crosses
glow'd
;
But
,
on
just
law-givers
bestow'd
,
These
emblems
Cecil
did
invest
,
And
gleam'd
on
wise
Godolphin's
breast
.
V.
So
Greece
,
ere
arts
began
to
rise
,
Fix'd
huge
Orion
in
the
skies
,
And
stern
Alcides
,
fam'd
in
wars
,
Bespangled
with
a
thousand
stars
;
'Till
letter'd
Athens
round
the
pole
Made
gentler
constellations
roll
,
In
the
blue
heavens
the
Names
of
Constellations
.
Lyre
she
strung
,
And
near
the
Maid
the
Balance
hung
.
VI
.
Then
,
SPENCER
,
mount
amid
the
band
,
Where
knights
and
kings
promiscuous
stand
.
What
though
the
hero's
flame
repress'd
Burns
calmly
in
thy
generous
breast
;
Yet
who
more
dauntless
to
oppose
In
doubtful
days
our
home-bred
foes
?
Who
rais'd
his
country's
wealth
so
high
,
Or
view'd
with
less
desiring
eye
?
VII
.
The
sage
who
large
of
soul
surveys
The
globe
,
and
all
its
empires
weighs
,
Watchful
the
various
climes
to
guide
,
Which
seas
,
and
tongues
,
and
faiths
divide
,
A
nobler
name
in
Windsor's
shrine
Shall
leave
,
if
right
the
Muse
divine
,
Than
sprung
of
old
,
abhorr'd
and
vain
,
From
ravag'd
realms
and
myriads
slain
.
VIII
.
Why
praise
we
,
prodigal
of
fame
,
The
rage
that
sets
the
world
on
flame
?
My
guiltless
Muse
his
brow
shall
bind
Whose
godlike
bounty
spares
mankind
:
For
those
,
whom
bloody
garlands
crown
,
The
brass
may
breathe
,
the
marble
frown
;
To
him
,
through
every
rescu'd
land
,
Ten
thousand
living
trophies
stand
.