Rous'd at the thought, at length iny soul
Shall own, Self-love, thy strong controul;
Henceforth I worship at thy shrine,
The Gleaner's Harvest shall be mine.
You tell me, Friend, the fund is nigh
Which may the Gleaner's Cottage buy;
Which, ere the joyless time shall come,
May give the comforts of a home.
Congenial to a Poet's cot,
Each Muse-lov'd shrub must grace the spot;
A purling stream, a shady bower,
And many a fair Parnassian flower:
A rose, What Bard's without his rose?
In ev'ry song it buds or blows ;-
A rose of moss its sweets must yield,
Perfuming garden, house, and field:
The primrose too must grace the scene,
The violet blue, and ivy green;
And ev'ry other bloom be there
That 's hallow'd by the Muse's care.
But if this golden aim succeeds,
May each kind wish to which it leads
Be crown'd with Plenty's best reward,
The richest harvest of the Bard!
Oh, when the independent cot
And social hearth shall be my lot,
May those who chang'd, with generous power,
The fancied to the real flower;
Who help'd so well to store my purse,
And realize the scenes of Verse;
When visionary meadows yield
To Alma Mater's actual field,
And bona fide cottage fare
Succeeds to palaces in air;
And Fairy-land, where Poets range,
To solid Terra Firma* change;
May those who help'd to build my cot,
And beautify and bless the spot,
Be at my little mansion found,
The Patrons of the smiling ground!
Without endearing Friendship's power,
Unlov'd the cot, unblest the bower:
Unless a Friend partake the fire,
What comfort can the blaze inspire?
Unless a Friend partake the board,
What pleasure can the feast afford?
Then may each friend of soul sincere
The Gleaner's happy Cot endear!
And, MAVOR, thou, a frequent guest,
Mayst thou, in turn, like me, be press'd;
A sunny chamber shine on me,
A shady parlour smile on thee!
And, whether roof'd with tile or thatch,
O mayst thou often pluck the latch
Friendship's a God! A key is thine;
A MASTER-key-by right divine.
* The reader will observe, in course of the present Volume, that this change is likely to take place.
[Although the following Lines have appeared; yet, as they are alluded to in the Address which immediately succeeds, they are here reprinted.]
OF WADHAM COLLEGE, OXFORD;
WITH A PRESENT OF SOME VIDONIA.
you, whose frolic spirit on the wing
Of glowing youth spontaneously can fly,
To youth and nature's never-failing spring,
Where all the stores of youth and nature lie;
To you, my friend, who, blest in classic lore,
-An early moralist and youthful sage—
Who, from a rich and variegated store,
Can draw life's nectar, mellowed many an age;
What is the envied Cape, the proud Tokay,
Th' o'erflowing goblet, or the mantling bowl,
That makes the dull so wise, the fool so gay?
What can they give to such a buoyant soul?
Nor wit, nor wisdom, can they all impart,
Nor native passion, nor ingenuous truth;
These the rich vintage of a fervid heart-
Gush in full tides of nature and of youth.
Yet still accept the humble gift I send:
Friendship's "the wine of life" when sound and true
-As sings the awful bard to whom I bend,-
And such the friendship that I feel for you.
WITH A REGULATION SASH, ON HIS ENTERING THE LOYAL WOODSTOCK VOLUNTEERS,
AND now, my Academic Friend,
A different verse the Muse must send;
A different wreath in haste must twine
Around fair Oxford's classic shrine;
With bolder hand must sweep the lyre
To mark the STUDENT-HERO's fire.
Vidonia's juice must cheer no more
The peaceful hours of learned lore;
For, ah! to days like these belong
Less pleasing gifts, and harsher song.
Lo! crimson WAR usurps the throne
Where Science us'd to reign alone;
The thund'ring drum assails her bowers,
Her holy fanes, her lofty towers;
And loud within her cloisters pale
The sights and sounds of strife prevail;
And Wisdom's self resigns awhile
Her sables with a Patriot's smile;
While every son of Science glows
To meet Britannia's threat'ning foes.
Go then, my Friend, where Honour calls,
And quit awhile thy Sacred Walls;
Go join the glory-breathing train
On yonder consecrated plain :
To grace her Warrior great and brave,
Illustrious CHURCHILL! " Albion's pride,"
Let him thy virtuous ardour guide.
Behold the Column, where he stands.
Superior o'er the spacious lands;
Ah! think his awful Figure moves,
And cach heroic act approves!
Mark what his trophied Pillar shows,
And "sink like him thy Country's foes ;"
By deeds like his embalm thy name;
By worth like his deserve thy fame;
Be, all his Trump sublime has rung,
And all thy Father's Muse has sung!
But soon as kinder Fates shall yield
Less iron harvests of the field,
When the proud Menacer has known
Her Sons can guard true Freedom's Throne;
When, ev'ry sterner duty o'er,
Fair Peace to Science shall restore
Her Heroes to the studious shade,
Where all but Wisdom's laurels fade,
-Save that the Goddess deigns to twine
Her sapient bay round Valour's shrine-
When War's dread fires no more shall burn,
O mayst thou safe, dear Youth, return,
A classic Victor to the scene
Where Wadham waves her sacred green!
May Learning then resume her Isle,
And crown thy labours with a smile!
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