By truth exalted to the throne of fame! Like Greece in science and in liberty, As Athens learn'd, as Lacedæmon free! Ev'n now, confess'd to my adoring eyes, In awful ranks thy sacred sons arise; With ev'ry various flower their temples wreath'd, That in thy gardens green its fragrance breath'd, Tuning to knightly tale his British reeds, Thy crouding bards immortal CHAUCER leads: His hoary head o'erlooks the gazing choir, And beams on all around celestial fire: With graceful step see ADDISON advance, The sweetest child of Attic Elegance: To all, but his belov'd embrace deny'd, See LOCKE leads reason, his majestic bride: See sacred HAMMOND, as he treads the field, With godlike arm uprears his heav'nly shield. All who, beneath the shades of gentle peace, Best plan'd the labours of domestic ease; Who taught with truth, or with persuasion mov'd; Who sooth'd with numbers, or with sense improv'd; Who told the pow'rs of reason or refin'd, All, all that strengthen'd or adorn'd the mind; Each priest of health, who mix'd the balmy bowl, To rear frail man, and stay the fleeting soul; All croud around, and echoing to the sky, Hail, OXFORD, hail! with filial transport cry. And see yon solemn band! with virtuous aim, 'Twas theirs in thought the glorious deed to frame: With pious plans each musing feature glows, And well weigh'd counsels mark their meaning brows: "Lo! these the leaders of thy patriot line," HAMDEN, and HOOKER, HYDE, and SIDNEY shine. These from thy source the fires of freedom caught: How well thy sons by their example taught! While in each breast th' hereditary flame Still blazes, unextinguish'd and the same! Nor all the toils of thoughtful peace engage, 'Tis thine to form the hero as the sage. I see the sable-suited prince advance With lillies crown'd, the spoils of bleeding France, EDWARD----the Muses in yon hallow'd shade Bound on his tender thigh the martial blade: Bade him the steel for British freedom draw, And OXFORD taught the deeds that CRESSY saw. And see, great father of the laureat band, The [12]BRITISH KING before me seems to stand. He by my plenty-crowned scenes beguil'd, And genial influence of my seasons mild, Hither of yore (forlorn, forgotten maid) The Muse in prattling infancy convey'd; From Gothic rage the helpless virgin bore, And fix'd her cradle on my friendly shore: Soon grew the maid beneath his fost'ring hand, Soon pour'd her blessings o'er th' enlighten'd land. Tho rude the [13]dome, and humble the retreat, Where first his pious care ordain'd her seat, Lo! now on high she dwells in Attic bow'rs, And proudly lifts to heav'n her hundred tow'rs. He first fair Learning's and Britannia's cause Adorn'd with manners, and advanc'd with laws;