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ODE,

Performed in the Senate-House at Cambridge, June 29, 1811, at the Installation of his Royal Highness, William Frederick Duke of Gloucester and Edinburgh, Chancellor of the University.

BY PROFESSOR SMITH,

RECITATIVE.

THOU, from thy realms of brighter day,
Thou, the bard, whose matchless lay

Once gave to deathless fame thy Fitzroy's praise;
Now, when again the festive pomp we lead,
Oh yet receive, for 'tis the poet's meed,

The earthly homage, which the heart would raise;
The fond, warm sigh, that would to life restore

The genius loved and mourned, that must return no

more.

AIR.

O thou lost Master of the British Shell!
Pleased, in the calm of academic bowers,
To win the spoils of meditative hours,
And, from thy studious cell,

See thy loved arts, and Virtue's gentle train,
Wide round the world securely reign ;

Alas! how is that world defiled,

How changed each scene that peaceful smiled,
Since in this crowded dome thy skill divine
Did laurel-wreaths round Granta's sceptre twine.

CHORUS.

-What counless Forms, with frantic mien,
Have flitted o'er yon darkened scene-
They come they rage-they disappear-
The storm is woe-the pause is fear-

RECITATIVE.

But who is He, that treads the uncertain gloom, That comes the last, nor shares the general doom ?

AIR AND QUARTETT.

Vain now each mighty name,
Thro' ages long descended;

Each banner's storied fame,
Which conquest once attended:

RECITATIVE.

From height to height the Alpine eagle flown,
Screams, as he finds no wild remain his own.

RECITATIVE.

With sullen march recede

The Russian's wasted train;
The high, indignant Swede

The oppressor braves in vain ;

In dim eclipse the Crescent's glories fade;
And the far Indian sees the approaching shade:
Where, mid the clouds of war,

Where now, the fortune of the Austrian star?
The high-born maid, in bridal garlands shown,
Leads up the last sad pomp that speaks a world o'er-
thrown.

CHORUS.

-The shout is heard on high

Britannia! hark-they fly-they fly-
Harkfallen is the foe, and thine the victory.
On Alexandria's plains glad sounds arise,
Vimeira loud replies;

The conquerors of the world are conquered now.
Rise, bind the laurels on thy brow,
Britannia rise!-'tis thine-'tis thine,

To roll the thunders of the blazing line,

And bid the ruin wide the scattered foe pursue;
And thine to rush amain,

Along the embattled plain,

Pour o'er the opposing ranks, and sweep them from the view.

RECITATIVE AND AIR.

On Talavera's height,

And 'mid Barrosa's fight,

High beat each English heart with triumph warm;
And England's genius o'er the battle's storm

Rose proud, and showed her Edward's laurelled form,
While near was seen the sable warrior-son,

Crowned, as on Poictier's day, with wreaths from Cressy

won.

AIR.

O Gloster! pleased to thee while Granta bends,
And gives her sceptre to thy faithful hand;
Oh think, while round the baleful storm extends,
Why yet thy Native Land,

Why yet the loved, the beauteous Isle,
In peace can rest, in virtue smile-

RECITATIVE.

'Mid states in flames and ruins hurled,
Why England yet survives the world!

AIR.

From hardy sports, from manly schools,
From Truth's pure lore in Learning's bower,
From equal Law alike that rules
The people's will, the monarch's power;
From Piety, whose soul sincere
Fears God, and knows no other fear;
From Loyalty, whose high disdain
Turns from the fawning, faithless train;

From deeds the Historian's records show,
Valour's renown, and Freedom's glow,
"Tis hence that springs the unconquered fire,
That bids to Glory's heights aspire.

AIR.

O Gloster! hence the sage's aim,

The scholar's toil, the statesman's fame,
The flaming sword, still ready found

To guard the paradise around

Here in their last retreat are seen

The peaceful Arts, the classic Muse; And heavenly Wisdom, here her light serene, Her holy calm, can still diffuse.

AIR AND CHORUS.

No common cause, no vulgar sway,
Now Gloster, claim thy generous zeal,

In England's bliss is Europe's stay,
And England's hope in Granta's weal.

AIR.

Thee have the marshalled hosts of France
Seen on their firmest ranks advance;
Thine was the soldier's fearless glow,

And thine the skill that watched around;
Shamed and repulsed the conscious foe
The laurel gave, 'tho' Fortune frowned:
And England heard, with loud acclaim,
The promise of thy youthful fame:

DUET.

The modest virtues on thy steps attend,
To thee the sons of grief and pain
For pity turn, nor turn in vain ;
The hapless African has called thee friend-
Oh ever thou the generous cause defend !

CHORUS.

Pursue thy course!-an honest fame is thine
And Granta still shall bless the day,
Granta that ever loved a Brunswick's name,
The honoured day, that saw her thus consign
To thee the ensigns of her sway;

Thee, guardian of her laws, her rights, her fame,
Son of her matron lore, Prince of her Monarch's line.

LINES,

Addressed to the Queen of Prussia, on her Birth-Day.

WHILE titled suppliants throng the glittering scene
To hail the day that gave the world a Queen,
Will regal beauty deign to lend an ear,
Nor scorn a bard uncourtly and sincere ?-
Who sees, undazzled, sceptered pomp displayed,
Yet bows to worth that shames all borrowed aid;
To worth that shines untarnished on a throne,
In fair LOUISA's bright example shown!
O, formed alike to grace the courtly scene,
Or smile the sweetest on the village-green,
To charm alike the heart, the eye, the ear,
And claim the palm, though all around were fair ;-
Amid the varied incense of the day,

Accept the tribute of an honest lay;

Nor deem the praise it bears, though warm it flows,
An eulogy that Flattery's breath bestows:-
For know, while such desert shall grace the theme,
That Praise for Truth is but another name.

Berlin, March 10, 1801.

B. BERESFORD.

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