English poetry -- 19th century; Landscapes -- England -- Dorset -- Poetry
Far other objects here around us rise,
The monuments of nobler victories.
This splendid dome, yon goodly piles behold,
This favour’d ground adorning, which of old
Our first great Chief, a patriot Hero, chose
“For Learning’s triumph o’er her barbarous foes[33]:”
These are her honourable trophies; here
No spoils of plunder’d provinces appear.
Our hallow’d fanes, our lofty spires, were built
By pure and bounteous hands unsoil’d with guilt.
Pure also was the source: the bounty springs
From holy Prelates, from religious Kings;
Who in the peaceful walks of life pursued
Their godlike occupation, doing good;
And taught us, careless of a transient fame,
Like them to seek a worthier meed, and claim
Th’ immortal recompense that Heaven decrees
For charitable toils, and generous works of peace.
Is there, who nurtured in this happy seat,
Still loves the Mansion, Learning’s choice retreat?—
Who yet these groves will honour, where his youth
Was early train’d to Virtue and to Truth;—
Who liberal arts and useful Science wooes,
And by the Muse beloved, protects the Muse;
Whose patient labour and unabated zeal
Pursues that nobles tend, his Country’s Weal;—
Watchful, and resolute in her defence
With counsel sage, and manly eloquence?—
For Him fair Fame her clearest voice shall raise
Till her high trumpet labours in his praise.
He ’bove the Conqueror’s name shall be renown’d,
Him Glory still shall follow, and around
Laurels unstain’d, unfading palms, shall spread,
Such as are now prepared for GRENVILLE’S honour’d head.
[32] The iron crown of Italy.
[33] Johnson’s Prologue, spoken at the opening of Drury-Lane, 1747.
AD MUSAS.
Dulce sub Autumnum, venienti frigore, mane
Lacte novo relevare sitim; dulce oscula Nisæ
Præripere, in fœno cum semisupina recenti
Dormit, nuda sinu; sub vespere dulce vagari
Quà vigil effundit liquidam Philomela querelam:
At mihi dulcis amor Musarum ante omnia: vos O
Pierides, vestro, precor, aspirate poetæ.
Ηως
Εργων ἡγητειρα, βιου προπολε θνητοισιν.
Or. Hym.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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