HE ENCE! avaunt! 'tis holy ground, And Ignorance, with looks profound, Servitude that hugs her chain; Nor, in the confecrated bowers, Let painted Flatt'ry hide her ferpent train in flow'rs. CHORUS. Nor Envy base, nor creeping Gain, While bright-ey'd Science walks around, RECITATIVE. From yonder realms of empyrian day, Bursts on my ear th' indignant lay! There fit the fainted fage, the bard divine, The few whom Genius gave to shine, Thro' every unborn age and undiscover'd clime; Rapt in celestial transport they : To blefs the place, where on their op'ning foul First the genuine ardor ftole; "Twas Milton ftruck the deep-ton'd shell, And as the choral warblings round him fwell, Meek Newton's felf bends from his state fublime, And nods his hoary head, and liftens to the rhime. A I R. Ye brown o'er-arching groves • Where willoway Camus lingers with de light, Oft at blush of dawn I've trode your level lawn, * Oft would the gleam of Cynthia's filver light In cloisters dim, far from the haunts of Folly, With freedom by my fide, and foft-ey'd Melancholy.' RECITATIVE. But hark! the portals found, and pacing With folemn steps and flow, [forth High potentates, and dames of royal birth, And mitred fathers, in long order go; Great Edward, with the lillies on his brow, From haughty Gallia torn; And fad Chatillon, on her bridal morn, That wept her bleeding love; and princely Clare; And Anjou's heroine; and the paler rofe, The rival of her crown and of her woes ; And either Henry there, The murder'd faint, and the majestic lord That broke the bonds of Rome. Their tears, their little triumphs o'er, Their human paffions move no more, Save Charity, that glows beyond the tomb. [Accompanied.] All that on Granta's fruitful plain Rich ftreams of regal bounty pour'd, And bade their awful fanes and turrets rife, To hail their Fitzroy's feftal morning come. And thus they speak, in foft accord, The liquid language of the skies. QUARTETTO. What is grandeur? what is power? What the bright reward of gain? RECITATIVE. Foremost and leaning from her golden clou The venerable Margaret fee Welcome, my noble Son, fhe cries aloud, To this thy kindred train and me; Pleas'd in thy lineaments to trace A Tudor's fire, a Beaufort's AIR. grace! Thy liberal heart, thy judging eye, RECITATIVE. Lo Granta waits to lead her blooming band, Not obvious, not obtrufive fhe; |