On ISIS' broider'd mead, where dips by fits The stooping osier in her hasty stream. Hail WOLSEY'S spacious dome! hail, ever fam'd For faithful nurture, and truth's sacred lore, Much honour'd parent! You my duteous zeal Accept, if haply in thy laureat wreath You deign to interweave this humble song. ON THE SAME. BY MR. JAMES CLITHEROW OF ALL SOULS COLL. I. 'Twas on the evening of that gloomy day, When FREDERIC, ever lov'd, and ever mourn'd, (Such heav'n's high will, and who shall disobey?) To earth's cold womb in holy pomp return'd: II. With sullen sounds, the death-denouncing bell Proclaim'd aloud the dismal tale of woe, The pealing organ join'd the solemn knell, In mournful notes, majestically slow. III. The full-voic'd choir, in stoles of purest white, With frequent pause, the soul-felt anthem raise; While o'er the walls in darkest sable dight, A thousand tapers pour'd their holy blaze. IV. In high devotion wrapt, the mitred sage, With energy sublime, the rites began; While tears from every sex, and every age, Bewail'd the prince, the father, and the man. V. "Who, when our sov'reign liege to fate shall yield, "Shall prop, like him, Britannia's falling state? "Who now the vengeful sword of justice wield, "Or ope, like him, sweet Mercy's golden gate? VI. "Who shall to Arts their pristine honours bring, "Rear from the dust fair Learning's laurell'd head, "Or bid rich commerce plume her daring wing? "Arts, Learning, Commerce are in FREDERIC dead. VII. "Who now shall tend, with fond, paternal care, "The future guardians of our faith and laws? "Who teach their breasts with patriot worth to dare, "And die with ardour, in Britannia's cause? VIII. "And who, ah! who, with soft endearing lore, "Shall sooth, like him, the royal mourner's breast? "Her lord, her life, her FREDERIC is no more."-- Deep groans and bitter wailings speak the rest. IX. Then, when at length the awful scene was clos'd, And dust to dust in holy hope consign'd; All to their silent homes their steps dispos'd, To feed on solitary woe the mind; X. All but Lorenzo;--he with grief dismay'd; Nor heeding ought but FREDERIC'S hapless fate, Musing along the cloyster'd temple stray'd, Till lonely midnight clos'd th' impervious gate. XI. But when each lamp by slow degrees expir'd, And total night assumes her silent reign, Sudden he starts, with wild amazement fir'd, And big with horror traverses the fane. XII.