University of Virginia Library

I sing the day, bright with peculiar charms,
Whose rising radiance ev'ry bosom warms;
The day when Cambridge empties all the towns,
And youths commencing, take their laural crowns:
When smiling joys, and gay delights appear,
And shine distinguish'd, in the rolling year.

While the glad theme I labour to rehearse,
In flowing numbers, and melodious verse,
Descend immortal nine, my soul inspire,
Amid my bosom lavish all your sire,
While smiling Phœbus, owns the heavenly layes
And shades the poet with surrounding bayes.
But chief, ye blooming nymphs of heavenly frame,
Who make the day with double glory flame,
In whose fair persons, art and nature vie,
On the young muse cast an auspicious eye:
Secure of fame, then shall the goddess sing,
And rise triumphant with a tow'ring wing,
Her tuneful notes wide-spreading all around,
The hills shall echo, and the vales resound.

Soon as the morn in crimson robes array'd.
With chearful beams dispels the flying shade,
While fragrant odours waft the air along,
And birds melodious chant their heavenly song,
And all the waste of heav'n with glory spread,
Wakes up the world, in sleep's embraces dead.
Then those whose dreams were on th' approaching day,
Prepare in splendid garbs to make their way
To that admir'd solemnity, whose date,
Tho' late begun, will last as long as fate.
And now the sprightly Fair approach the glass
To heighten every feature of the face.
They view the roses flush their glowing cheeks,
The snowy lillies twining round their necks.
Their rustling manteaus huddled on in haste,
They clasp with shining girdles round their waist.
Nor less the speed and care of every beau,
To shine in dress, and swell the solemn show.
Thus clad, in careless order mixt by chance,
In haste they both along the streets advance;
'Till near the brink of Charles's beauteous stream,
They stop, and think the lingring boat to blame.
Soon as the empty skiff salutes the shore,
In with impetuous haste they clustering pour,
The men the head, the stern the ladies grace,
And neighing horses fill the middle space.
Sunk deep, the boat floats slow the waves along,
And searce contains the thickly crowded throng;
A gen'ral horror seizes on the fair,
While white-look'd cowards only not despair.
Till row'd with care, they reach th' opposing side,
Leap on the shore, and leave the threat'ning tide.
While to receive the pay the boat-man stands,
And chinking pennys jingle in his hands.
Eager the sparks assault the waiting cars,
Fops meet with fops, and clash in civil wars.
Off fly the wigs, as mount their kicking heels,
The rudely bouncing head with anguish swells,
A crimson torrent gushes from the nose,
Adown the cheeks, and wanders o'er the cloaths.
Vaunting, the victor's strait the chariots leap,
While the poor batter'd beau's for madness weep.

Now in calashes shine the blooming maids,
Bright'ning the day which blazes o'er their heads;
The seats with nimble steps they swift ascend,
And moving on the crowd, their waste of beauties spend,
So bearing thro' the boundless breadth of heav'n,
The twinkling lamps of light are graceful driv'n;
While on the world they shed their glorious rays,
And set the face of nature in a blaze.

Now smoak the burning wheels along the ground,
While rapid hoofs of flying steeds resound,
The drivers by no vulgar flame inspir'd,
But with the sparks of love and glory fir'd,
With furious swiftness sweep along the way,
And from the foremost chariot snatch the day.
So at olympick games when heros strove,
In rapid cars to gain the goal of love.
If on her fav'rite youth the goddess shone
He left his rival and the winds out-run.

And now thy town, O Cambridge! strikes the sight
Of the beholders with confus'd delight;
Thy green campaigns wide open to the view,
And buildings where bright youth their fame pursue.
Blest village! on whose plains united glows,
A vast, confus'd magnificence of shows.
Where num'rous crowds of different colours blend,
Thick as the trees which from the hills ascend:
Or as the grass which shoots in verdant spires,
Or stars which dart thro' natures realms their fires.

How am I fir'd with a profuse delight,
When round the yard I roll my ravish'd sight!
From the high casements how the ladies show!
And scatter glory on the crowds below.
From sash to sash the lovely lightening plays
And blends their beauties in a radiant blaze.
So when the noon of night the earth invades
And o'er the landskip spreads her silent shades.
In heavens high vault the twinkling stars appear,
And with gay glory's guild the gleemy sphere.
From their bright orbs a flame of splendors flows,
And all around th' enlighten'd ether glows.

Soon as huge heaps, have delug'd all the plains
Of tawny damsels, mixt with simple swains,
Gay city beau's, grave matrons and co quats,
Bully's, and cully's, clergymen and wits.
The thing which first the num'rous crowd employs,
Is by a breakfast to begin their joys.
While wine, which blushes in a chrystal glass
Streams down in floods, and paints their glowing face.
And now the time approaches when the bell,
With dull continuance tolls a solemn knell.
Numbers of blooming youth in black array
Adorn the yard, and gladden all the day.
In two strait lines they instantly divide,
While each beholds his partner on th' opposing side,
Then slow, majestick, walks the learned head,
The senate follow with a solemn tread,
Next levi's tribe in reverend order move,
Whilst the uniting youth the show improve.
They glow in long procession till they come,
Near to the portals of the sacred dome;
Then on a sudden open fly the doors,
The leader enters, then the croud thick pours,
The temple in a moment feels its freight,
And cracks beneath its vast unweildy weight,
So when the threatning Ocean roars around
A place encompass'd with a lofty mound,
If some weak part admits the raging waves,
It flows resistless, and the city leaves;
Till underneath the waters ly the tow'rs,
Which menac'd with their height the heav'nly pow'rs.

The work begun with pray'r, with modest pace,
A youth advancing mounts the desk with grace,
To all the audience sweeps a circling bow,
Then from his lips ten thousand graces flow.
The next that comes, a learned thesis reads,
The question states, and then a war succeeds.
Loud major, minor, and the consequence,
Amuse the crowd, wide-gaping at their sence.
Who speaks the loudest is with them the best,
And impudence for learning is confest.

The battle o'er, the sable youth descend,
And to the awful chief, their footsteps bend.
With a small book, the laurel wreath he gives
Join'd with a pow'r to use it all their lives.
Obsequious, they return what they receive,
With decent rev'rence, they his presence leave.
Dismiss'd, they strait repeat their backward way,
And with white napkins grace the sumptuous day.

Now plates unnumber'd on the tables shine,
And dishes fill'd invite the guests to dine.
The grace perform'd, each as it suits him best,
Divides the sav'ry honours of the feast,
The glasses with bright sparkling wines abound,
And flowing bowls repeat the jolly round.
Thanks said, the multitude unite their voice,
In sweetly mingled and melodious noise.
The warbling musick floats along the air,
And softly winds the mazes of the ear;
Ravish'd the crowd promiscuously retires,
And each pursues the pleasure he admires.

Behold my muse far distant on the plains,
Amidst a wrestling ring two jolly swains;
Eager for fame, they tug and haul for blood,
One nam'd Jack Luby, t'other Robin Clod,
Panting they strain, and labouring hard they sweat,
Mix legs, kick shins, tear cloaths, and ply their feet.
Now nimbly trip, now stiffly stand their ground,
And now they twirle around, around, around;
Till overcome by greater art, or strength,
Jack Luby lays along his lubber length.
A fall! a fall! the loud spectators cry,
A fall! a fall! the echoing hills reply.

O'er yonder field in wild confusion runs,
A clam'rous troop of Affric's sable sons,
Behind the victors shout, with barbarous roar,
The vanquish'd fly with hideous yells before,
The gloomy squadron thro' the valley speeds
Whilst clatt'ring cudgels battle o'er their heads.

Again to church the learned tribe repair,
Where syllogisms battle in the air,
And then the elder youth their second laurels wear.
Hail! happy laurets! who our hopes inspire,
And set our ardent wishes all on fire.
By you the pulpit and the bar will shine,
In future annals; while the ravish'd nine
Will in your bosom breathe cælestial flames,
And stamp Eternity upon your names.
Accept my infant muse, whose feeble wings
Can scarce sustain her flight, while you she sings.
With candour view my rude unfinish'd praise
And see my Ivy twist around your bayes.
So Phideas by immortal Jove inspir'd,
His statue carv'd, by all mankind admir'd.
Nor thus content, by his approving nod,
He cut himself upon the shining god,
That shaded by the umbrage of his name,
Eternal honours might attend his fame.