Mad Sedition's cry profane,

Servitude that hugs her chain,

Nor in these consecrated bowers

Let painted Flatt'ry hide her serpent-train in flowers, Nor Envy base, nor creeping Gain

Dare the Muse's walk to stain,

While bright-ey'd Science watches round:

Hence, away, 'tis holy ground!'

II.

From yonder realms of empyrean day

Bursts on my ear th' indignant lay:

There sit the sainted Sage, the Bard divine,

The few, whom Genius gave to shine २

Through every unborn age, and undiscover'd clime.

Rapt in celestial transport they,

Yet hither oft a glance from high

They send of tender sympathy

To bless the place, where on their opening soul

First the genuine ardour stole.

"Twas Milton struck the deep-toned shell,

And, as the choral warblings round him swell, Meek Newton's self bends from his state sublime, And nods his hoary head, and listens to the rhyme.

III.

Ye brown o'er-arching groves,

That Contemplation loves,

Where willowy Camus lingers with delight.

Oft at the blush of dawn

I trod your level lawn,

Oft woo'd the gleam of Cynthia silver-bright

In cloisters dim, far from the haunts of Folly,

With Freedom by my side, and soft-ey'd Melancholy.'

IV.

But bark! the portals sound, and pacing forth

With solemn steps and slow,

High potentates, and dames of royal birth,
And mitred fathers in long order go:

Great Edward, with the lilies on his brow,
From haughty Gallia torn,

And tsad Chatillon, on her bridal morn,

That wept her bleeding Love, and princelyt Clare,
And §Anjou's heroine, and || the paler Rose,
The rival of her crown and of her woes,

The murder'd Saint, and the majestic Lord,
That broke the bonds of Rome.

(Their tears, their little triumphs o'er,
Their human passions now no more,
Save Charity, that glows beyond the tomb)
All that on Granta's fruitful plain
Rich streams of regal bounty pour'd,

And bade these awful fanes and turrets rise,
To hail their Fitzroy's festal morning come;
And thus they speak in soft accord

The liquid language of the skies.

V.

'What is grandeur, what is power?
Heavier toil, superior pain.
What the bright reward we gain?
The grateful memory of the good.

Edward the Third; who added the fleur de lys of France to the arms of England. He founded Trinity College.

Mary de Valentia, counte s of Pembroke, daughter of Guy de Chatillon, comte de St. Paul in France of whom tradition says, that her husband, Audemar de Valentia, earl of Pembroke, was slain at a tournament on the day of his nuptials. She was the foundress of Pembroke College, or Hall, under the name of Aula Marie de Valentia.

Elizabeth de Burg, countess of Clare, was wife of John de Burg, son and heir of the Earl of Ulster, and daughter of Gilbert de Clare, earl of Gloucester, by Joan of Acres, daughter of Edward the First. Hence the poet gives her the epithet of princely.' She founded Clare Hall. Margaret of Anjou, wife of Henry the Sixth, foundress of Queen's College. The poet has celebrated her conjugal fidelity in the former Ode: V. Epode 2d, line 13th.

Elizabeth Widville, wife of Edward the Fourth (hence called the paler Rose, as being of the House of York). She added to the founda Hon of Margaret of Anjou.

Henry the Sixth and Eighth. The former founder of King's, the latter the greatest benefactor to Trinity College.

Sweet is the breath of vernal shower,

The bee's collected treasures sweet,

Sweet Music's melting fall, but sweeter yet
The still small voice of Gratitude.'

VI.

Foremost and leaning from her golden cloud
The venerable Marg❜ret see!

'Welcome, my noble son, (she cries aloud)
To this, thy kindred train, and me:
Pleased in thy lineaments we trace
†A Tudor's fire, a Beaufort's grace.
Thy liberal heart, thy judging eye,
The flower unheeded shall descry,
And bid it round heav'n's altars shed
The fragrance of its blushing head:
Shall raise from earth the latent gem
To glitter on the diadem.

VII.

'Lo, Granta waits to lead her blooming band,
Not obvious, not obtrusive, She

No vulgar praise, no venal incense flings;
Nor dares with courtly tongue refined
Profane thy inborn royalty of mind:

She reveres herself and thee.

she brings,

With modest pride to grace thy youthful brow
The laureate wreath, that ‡Cecil wore,
And to thy just, thy gentle hand

Submits the fasces of her sway,

While spirits blest above and men below
Join with glad voice the loud symphonious lay.

* Countess of Richmond and Derby; the mother of Henry the Seventh, foundress of St. John's and Christ's Colleges.

+ The countess was a Beaufort, and married to a Tudor: hence the application of this line to the Duke of Grafton, who claims descent from both these families.

Lord Treasurer Burghley was chancellor of the University, in the reign of Queen Elizabeth.

VIII.

"Through the wild waves, as they roar,
With watchful eye and dauntless mien
Thy steady course of honour keep,
Nor fear the rocks, nor seek the shore:
The Star of Brunswick smiles serene
And gilds the horrors of the deep.'

VIII. THE FATAL SISTERS.

From the Norse-Fongue.

Now the storm begins to lower

(Haste, the loom of Hell prepare), Iron-sleet of arrowy shower

Hurtles in the darken'd air.

To be found in the Orcades of Thormodus Torfæus; Hafnis, 1697, folio: and also in Bartholinus.

Vitt er orpit fyrir valfalli, &c.

The design of Mr. Gray in writing this and the three foliowing imitative Odes is given in the Memoirs of his Life. For the better under. standing the first of these, the reader is to be informed, that in the eleventh century, Sigurd, earl of the Orkney Islands, went with a fleet of ships, and a considerable body of troops, into Ireland, to the assistance of Sictryg with the silken beard, who was then making war on his father-in-law Brian, king of Dublin: the earl and all his forces were cut to pieces, and Sictryg was in danger of a total defeat; but the enemy had a greater loss by the death of Brian, their king, who fell in the action. On Christmas-day (the day of the battle) a native of Caithness, in Scotland, saw at a distance a number of persons on horseback riding full speed towards a hill, and seeming to enter into it. Curiosity led him to follow them, till looking through an opening in the rocks, he saw twelve gigantic figures resembling women: they were all employed about a loom; and as they wove, they sung the following dreadful song; which, when they had finished, they tore the web into twelve pieces, and (each taking her portion) galloped six to the north and as many to the south. These were the Valkyriur, female divinities, servants of Odin (or Woden) in the Gothic Mythology. Their name signifies Choosers of the slain. They were mounted on swift horses, with drawn swords in their hands; and in the throng of battle selected such as were destined to slaughter, and conducted them to Valkalla, the hall of Odin, or paradise of the brave; where they attended the banquet, and served the departed heroes with horns of mead and ale.

F

Glitt❜ring lances are the loom,
Where the dusky warp we strain,
Weaving many a soldier's doom,
Orkney's woe, and Randver's bane.
See the griesly texture grow

('Tis of human entrails made),
And the weights, that play below,
Each a gasping warrior's head.
Shafts for shuttles, dipt in gore,

Shoot the trembling cords along.
Sword, that once a inonarch bore,
Keeps the tissue close and strong.

Mista black, terrific maid,
Sangrida, and Hilda see,

Join the wayward work to aid :
"Tis the woof of victory.

Ere the ruddy sun be set,

Pikes must shiver, javelins sing,
Blade with clattering buckler meet,
Hauberk crash, and helmet ring.

(Weave the crimson web of war)
Let us go, and let us fly,
Where our friends the conflict share,
Where they triumph, where they die.

As the paths of fate we tread,

Wading through th' ensanguined field: Gondula, and Geira, spread

O'er the youthful king your shield.

We the reins to slaughter give,

Ours to kill, and ours to spare:

Spite of danger he shall live

(Weave the crimson web of war).