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Ye temples dim, where pious duty pays
Her holy hymns of ever-echoing praise;
Lo your loved Isis, from the bordering 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,
By truth exalted to the throne of fame;
Like Greece in science and in liberty,
As Athens learned, as Lacedemon free."

Sir Joshua was proud, as well he might be, of the Laureate's praises, but seems to have felt that the poet, after all, loved in his heart the old "wreathed Gothic window," where "hues romantic tinged the gorgeous pane," better than the "portraitures of attic art" he had been induced to celebrate. "I owe you great obligations for the sacrifice which ye have made, or pre

tend to have made, to modern art; I say pretend, for though it is allow. ed that you have, like a true poet, feigned marvellously well, and have opposed the two different styles with the skill of a connoisseur, yet I may be allowed to entertain some doubts of the sincerity of your conversion." No wonder-for what can be finer, in its way, than this?

"Ah, stay thy treacherous hand, forbear to trace
Those faultless forms of elegance and grace!
Ah, cease to spread the bright transparent mass,
With Titian's pencil, o'er the speaking glass!
Nor steal, by strokes of art with truth combined,
The fond illusions of my wayward mind!
For long enamoured of a barbarous age,
A faithless truant to the classic page;

Long have I loved to catch the simple chime,
Of minstrel harps, and spell the fabling rhime;
To view the festive rites, the knightly play
That decked heroic Albion's elder day;
To mark the mouldering halls of barons bold,
And the rough castle, cast in giant mould;
With Gothic manners Gothic arts explore,
And muse on the magnificence of yore.

"But chief, enraptured have I loved to roam,
A lingering votary, the vaulted dome,
Where the tall shafts, that mount in massy pride,
Their mingling branches shoot from side to side;
Where elfin sculptors, with fantastic clew,
O'er the long roof their wild embroidery drew;
Where Superstition with capricious hand
In many a maze the wreathed window planned,
With hues romantic tinged the gorgeous pane,
To fill with holy light the wondrous fane;
To aid the builder's model, richly rude,

By no Vitruvian symmetry subdued;

To suit the genius of the mystic pile :

Whilst as around the far retiring ile,

And fretted shrines, with hoary trophies hung,

Her dark illumination wide she flung,

With new solemnity, the nooks profound,

The caves of death, and the dim arches frowned.

From bliss long felt unwillingly we part:

Ah, spare the weakness of a lover's heart!
Chase not the phantoms of my fairy dream,
Phantoms that shrink at reason's painful gleam!
That softer touch, insidious artist, stay,
Nor to new joys my struggling breast betray!"

It would not, we suspect, be easy for any one of our living poets to surpass what we have been copiously quoting; if you think so, you had better try. Strip Warton of his antiquarianism, we have heard it said, and seen it written, and you leave him bare. Strip a cathedral of its antiquity, and it becomes a barn. Play at the innocent game of strip-Peternaked till you are tired, but let Tom wear his weeds. There is much in what Joseph Warton relates of a visit he and his brother had with their father, in very early youth, to Windsor Castle. The old man-who had been Poetry-Professor in his day too, and ought to have been better-was angry with Tom for not having expressed any pleasure at the spectacle; "Thomas goes on, and takes no notice of any thing he has seen;" but Joe, who never forgot the remark, in maturer years observed, "I believe my brother was more struck with what he saw than either of us." And Dr Huntingford (late Bishop of Salisbury

-a wise and good man) who communicated the anecdote-if anecdote it be-to Dr Mant (now Bishop of Down-a wise and good man too), says well, "there is good reason to think that the peculiar fondness for Castle Imagery, which Warton, on many occasions, strongly discovers, may be traced to this incident of his early days." Perhaps all the most pleasing characteristics of Warton's genius are, we think, exhibited in his Stanzas written at Vale-Royal Abbey in Cheshire-a monastery of Cistercian monks founded by King Edward the First, in consequence of a vow which he made when in danger of being shipwrecked, during his return from a crusade. It was first founded in Dernhall, in the same county, in the reign of Henry the Third; but Edward translated it to a place on the river Wever, not far distant, to which he then gave the name of the ValeRoyal. The versification-and the measure is a noble one— e-is equal to that of Davenant, Dryden, or Gray.

WRITTEN AT VALE-ROYAL ABBEY IN CHESHIRE.

"As evening slowly spreads his mantle hoar,
No ruder sounds the bounded valley fill,
Than the faint din, from yonder sedgy shore,
Of rushing waters, and the murmuring mill.

"How sunk the scene, where cloister'd leisure mus'd! Where war-worn Edward paid his awful vow;

And, lavish of magnificence, diffus'd

His crowded spires o'er the broad mountain's brow!

"The golden fans, that o'er the turrets strown,

Quick glancing to the Sun, wild music made,

Are reft, and every battlement o'ergrown

With knotted thorns, and the tall sapling's shade.

"The prickly thistle sheds its plumy crest,
And matted nettles shade the crumbling mass,
Where shone the pavement's surface smooth, imprest
With rich reflection of the storied glass.

"Here hardy chieftains slept in proud repose,
Sublimely shrin'd in gorgeous imagery;

And through the lessening iles, in radiant rows,
Their consecrated banners hung on high.

"There oxen browze, and there the sable yew
Through the dun void displays its baleful glooms;
And sheds in lingering drops ungenial dew
O'er the forgotten graves and scatter'd tombs.

"By the slow clock, in stately-measur'd chime,
That from the massy tower tremendous toll'd,
No more the plowman counts the tedious time,
Nor distant shepherd pens his twilight fold.

VOL. XLIV. NO. CCLXXVI,

2 N

"High o'er the trackless heath at midnight seen,
No more the windows, rang'd in long array,
(Where the tall shaft and fretted nook between
Thick ivy twines) the taper'd rites betray.

"Ev'n now, amid the wavering ivy-wreaths, (While kindred thoughts the pensive sounds inspire,) When the weak breeze in many a whisper breathes, I seem to listen to the chanting quire.

"As o'er these shatter'd towers intent we muse,
Though rear'd by Charity's capricious zeal,
Yet can our breasts soft Pity's sigh refuse,
Or conscious Candour's modest plea conceal?

"For though the sorceress, Superstition blind,
Amid the pomp of dreadful sacrifice,
O'er the dim roofs, to cheat the tranced mind,
Oft bade her visionary gleams arise:

"Though the vain hours unsocial Sloth beguil'd,
While the still cloister's gate Oblivion lock'd;
And thro' the chambers pale, to slumbers mild
Wan Indolence her drowsy cradle rock'd:

Yet hence, inthron'd in venerable state,
Proud Hospitality dispens'd her store:
Ah, see, beneath yon tower's unvaulted gate,
Forlorn she sits upon the brambled floor!

"Her ponderous vase, with Gothic portraiture Emboss'd, no more with balmy moisture flows; Mid the mix'd shards o'erwhelm'd in dust obscure, No more, as erst, the golden goblet flows.

"Sore beat by storms in Glory's arduous way,
Here might Ambition muse, a pilgrim sage;
Here raptur'd see religion's evening ray
Gild the calm walks of his reposing age.

"Here ancient Art her dædal fancies play'd
In the quaint mazes of the crisped roof;
In mellow glooms the speaking pane array'd,
And rang'd the cluster'd column, massy proof.

"Here Learning, guarded from a barbarous age,
Hover'd awhile, nor dar'd attempt the day;
But patient trac'd upon the pictur'd page
The holy legend, or heroic lay.

"Hither the solitary minstrel came

An honour'd guest, while the grim evening sky
Hung lowering, and around the social flame
Tun'd his bold harp to tales of chivalry.

"Thus sings the Muse, all pensive and alone;
Nor scorns within the deep fane's inmost cell
To pluck the gray moss from the mantled stone,
Some holy founder's mouldering name to spell.

"Thus sings the Muse :-yet partial as she sings,
With fond regret surveys these ruin'd piles:
And with fair images of ancient things
The captive bard's obsequious mind beguiles.

"But much we pardon to th' ingenuous Muse;
Her fairy shapes are trick'd by Fancy's pen:
Severer Reason forms far other views,
And scans the scene with philosophic ken.

"From these deserted domes new glories rise;
More useful institutes, adorning man,
Manners enlarg'd, and new civilities,
On fresh foundations build the social plan.

"Science, on ampler plume, a bolder flight
Essays, escap'd from Superstition's shrine ;
While freed Religion, like primeval light
Bursting from chaos, spreads her warmth divine."

a

But by far the noblest of Warton's inspirations are his two odes—the Crusade and the Grave of King Arthur. "They have," quoth the author of Hohenlinden and Lochiel, " genuine air of martial and minstrel enthusiasm." And again," the spirit of Chivalry he may indeed be said to have revived in the poetry of modern times." Scott took a motto for the Minstrelsy of the Border from Warton-a most appropriate one—

"The songs, to savage virtue dear, That won of yore the public ear; Ere polity, sedate and sage,

Had quenched the fires of feudal rage." But Scott was indebted to Warton for far more than a motto-and has

Tremble, watchmen, as ye spy
From distant towers, with anxious eye,
The radiant range of shield and lance
Down Damascus' hills advance :
From Sion's turrets as afar
Ye ken the march of Europe's war!
Saladin, thou paynim king,
From Albion's isle revenge we bring!
On Acon's spiry citadel,

Though to the gale thy banners swell,
Pictured with the silver Moon;
England shall end thy glory soon!
In vain, to break our firm array,
Thy brazen drums hoarse discord bray:
Those sounds our rising fury fan:
English Richard in the van,

On to victory we go,

A vaunting infidel the foe.'

And Crete, with piny verdure crowned,
Far along the smiling main
Echoed the prophetic strain.

"Blondel led the tuneful band, somewhere acknowledged the obliga- Cyprus, from her rocky mound, And swept the wire with glowing hand. tion-his genius was kindled by "the Crusade," and "the Grave of Arthur"-nor has he surpassed, if indeed he has equalled them in any of his most heroic strains. The composition is more perfect than that of any thing Scott ever wrote-the style more sustained and the spirit more accordant with the olden time.

"The Crusade" is supposed to have been the Song composed by Richard and Blondel, and sung by that minstrel under the window of the Castle

"Soon we kissed the sacred earth
That gave a murdered Saviour birth ;
Then with ardour fresh endued,
Thus the solemn song renewed.

"Lo, the toilsome voyage past, Heaven's favoured hills appear at last!' Object of our holy vow,

We tread the Tyrian valleys now.
From Carmel's almond shaded steep,
We feel the cheering fragrance creep:

in which the King was imprisoned by O'er Engaddi's shrubs of balm
Leopold of Austria.

THE CRUSADE.

"Bound for holy Palestine,
Nimbly we brush'd the level brine,
All in azure steel arrayed;
O'er the wave our weapon played,
And made the dancing billows glow;
High upon the trophied prow,
Many a warrior-minstrel swung
His sounding harp, and boldly sung :
666 Syrian virgins, wail and weep,
English Richard ploughs the deep!

Waves the date empurpled palm :
See Lebanon's aspiring head
Wide his immortal umbrage spread!
Hail, Calvary, thou mountain hoar,
Wet with our Redeemer's gore!
Ye trampled tombs, ye fanes forlorn,
Ye stones, by tears of pilgrims worn;
Your ravished honours to restore,
Fearless we climb this hostile shore!
And thou, the sepulchre of God!
By mocking pagans rudely trod,
Bereft of every awful rite,

And quenched thy lamps that beamed so
bright;

For thee, from Britain's distant coast,
Lo, Richard leads his faithful host!

Aloft in his heroic hand,
Blazing, like the beacon's brand,
O'er the far-affrighted fields,
Resistless Kaliburn he wields.
Proud Saracen, pollute no more
The shrines by martyrs built of yore!
From each wild mountain's trackless

crown

In vain thy gloomy castles frown:
Thy battering engines, huge and high,
In vain our steel-clad steeds defy;
And, rolling in terrific state,

On giant wheels harsh thunders grate.
When eve has hushed the buzzing camp,
Amid the moon-light vapours damp,
Thy necromantic forms, in vain,
Haunt us on the tented plain :
We bid the spectre-shapes avaunt,
Ashtaroth, and Termagaunt!
With many a demon, pale of hue,
Doomed to drink the bitter dew
That drops from Macon's sooty tree,
Mid the dread grove of ebony.
Nor magic charms, nor fiends of Hell,
The Christian's holy courage quell.
"Salem, in ancient majesty
Arise, and lift thee to the sky!
Soon on thy battlements divine
Shall wave the badge of Constantine.
Ye barons, to the Sun unfold

Our cross with crimson wove and gold!'"

"The Grave of King Arthur" is even a still nobler strain. King Henry the Second having undertaken an expedition into Ireland to suppress a rebellion raised by Roderic, King of Connaught, commonly called O'Connor Dunn, or the brown Monarch of Ireland, was entertained in his passage through Wales with the songs of the Welsh Bards. The subject of their poetry was King Arthur, whose history had been so disguised by fabulous inventions that the place of his burial was in general scarcely known or remembered. But in one of those Welsh poems sung before Henry, it was recited that King Arthur, after the Battle of Camlan in Cornwall, was interred at Glastonbury Abbey, before the high altar, yet without any external mark or memorial. Afterwards, Henry visited the Abbey, and commanded the spot, described by the bard, to be opened; when, digging near twenty feet deep, they found the body deposited under a large stone, in. scribed with Arthur's name. This is the groundwork of the ode; but it is told with some slight variations from the Chronicle of Glastonbury.

The

Castle of Cilgarran, where this discovery is supposed to have been made, now a ruin, stands on a rock descending to the river Teivi in Pembrokeshire, and was built by Roger Montgomery, who led the van of the warriors at Hastings.

THE GRAVE OF KING ARTHUR.

"Stately the feast, and high the cheer:
Girt with many an armed peer,
And canopied with golden pall,
Amid Cilgarran's castle hall,
Sublime in formidable state,
And warlike splendour, Henry sate;
Prepared to stain the briny flood
Of Shannon's lakes with rebel blood.
"Illumining the vaulted roof,
A thousand torches flamed aloof:
From massy cups, with golden gleam
Sparkled the red metheglin's stream:
To grace the gorgeous festival,
Along the lofty-windowed hall,
The storied tapestry was hung:
With minstrelsy the rafters hung
Of harps, that with reflected light
From the proud gallery glittered bright:
While gifted bards, a rival throng
(From distant Mona, muse of song
From Teivi, fringed with umbrage brown,
From Elvy's vale, and Cader's crown,
From many a shaggy precipice
That shades Ierne's hoarse abyss,
And many a sunless solitude
Of Radnor's inmost mountains rude),
To crown the banquet's solemn close,
Themes of British glory chose;
And to the strings of various chyme
Attempered thus the fabling rhyme.
"O'er Cornwall's cliffs the tempest
roared,

High the screaming sea-mew soared;
On Tintaggel's topmost tower
Darksome fell the sleety shower;
Round the rough castle shrilly sung
The whirling blast, and wildly flung
On each tall rampart's thundering side
The surges of the tumbling tide:
When Arthur ranged his red-cross ranks
On conscious Camlan's crimsoned banks:
By Mordred's faithless guile decreed
Yet in vain a paynim foe
Beneath a Saxon spear to bleed!

Armed with fate the mighty blow;
For when he fell, an elfin queen,
All in secret, and unseen,
Her mantle of ambrosial blue ;
O'er the fainting hero threw
And bade her spirits bear him far,
In Merlin's agate-axled car,
To her green isle's enamelled steep,
Far in the navel of the deep.
O'er his wounds she sprinkled dew
From flowers that in Arabia grew:

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