And list'ning danc'd beneath their pearly grot: In gentler eddies play'd my wanton wave, And all my reeds their softest whispers gave; Each lay with brighter green adorn'd my bow'rs, And breath'd a fresher fragrance on my flow'rs. But lo! at once the swelling concerts cease, And crouded theatres are hush'd in peace. See, on yon sage how all attentive stand, To catch his darting eye, and waving hand. Hark! he begins, with all a TULLY'S art To pour the dictates of a CATO'S heart. Skill'd to pronounce what noblest thoughts inspire, He blends the speaker's with the patriot's fire; Bold to conceive, nor tim'rous to conceal, What Britons dare to think, he dares to tell. 'Tis his alike the ear and eye to charm, To win with action, and with sense to warm; Untaught in flow'ry diction to dispense The lulling sounds of sweet impertinence; In frowns or smiles he gains an equal prize, Nor meanly fears to fall, nor creeps to rise; Bids happier days to ALBION be restor'd, Bids ancient Justice rear her radiant sword; From me, as from my country, wins applause, And makes an OXFORD'S a BRITANNIA'S cause. While arms like these my steadfast sages wield, While mine is Truth's impenetrable shield; Say, shall the PUNY CHAMPION fondly dare To wage with force like this, scholastic war? Still vainly scribble on with pert pretence, With all the rage of pedant impotence? Say, shall I foster this domestic pest, This parricide that wounds a mother's breast? Thus in the stately ship that long has bore Britain's victorious cross from shore to shore, By chance, beneath her close sequester'd cells, Some low-born worm, a lurking mischief dwells; Eats his blind way, and saps with secret toil The deep foundations of the watry pile. In vain the forest lent its stateliest pride, Rear'd her tall mast, and fram'd her knotty side; In vain the thunder's martial rage she stood, With each fierce conflict of the stormy flood; More sure the reptile's little arts devour, Than waves, or wars, or Eurus' wintry pow'r, Ye venerable bow'rs, ye seats sublime, Clad in the mossy vest of fleeting time; Ye stately piles of old munificence, At once the pride of Learning and defence, Where ancient Piety, a matron hoar, Still seems to keep the hospitable door; Ye cloisters pale, that length'ning to the sight, Still step by step to musings mild invite; Ye high-archt walks where oft the bard has caught The glowing sentiment, the lofty thought; Ye temples dim, where pious duty pays Her holy hymns of ever-echoing praise; Lo! your lov'd ISIS, from the bord'ring vale, With all a mother's fondness bids you hail!---- Hail, OXFORD, hail! of all that's good and great, Of all that's fair, the guardian and the seat; Nurse of each brave pursuit, each generous aim,