University of Virginia Library

An EXERCISE.

Containing a Dialogue and Ode, sacred to the memory of his late gracious majesty George II.—Performed at the public commencement in the College of Philadelphia, May 1761.

EUGENIO.
What means that look of woe, the head reclin'd,
Those folded arms with which I meet Amyntor?
That eye, which wont with love and sparkling joy,
To beam munificent on ev'ry friend;
Why bends it thus in sorrow to the ground,
As if no view could please but dust and earth?

AMYNTOR.
All things, Eugenio, are but dust and earth!
E'en kings themselves—those demi-gods enthron'd,
Rulers of empire, thunder-bolts of war,
At whose avenging nod the guilty tremble,
Nations are doom'd, and millions live or die—
E'en kings, themselves, are nought but dust and earth!

EUGENIO.
Who knows not that, Amyntor? But why damp
This festive day with such untimely lectures?

AMYNTOR.
What festive day can Britain or her sons
Now celebrate? The voice of joy is fled.
Let no rash hand with myrtle or with bay,
Or other flaunting foliage of the grove
Presume to deck these walls. Come baleful yew,
And weeping cypress, from your midnight shades!
None other wreathe but your's from hill or dale
Be pluck'd to circle academic brow.
See pale Britannia on the wave-worn shore,
Incumbent o'er her massy trident weeps;
And fond Ierne sister of her grief,
Calls from her harp sad notes of Doric strain.
From pole to pole, far as old ocean heaves
His troubled waves, and bears the British flag,
The voice of woe is heard. E'en here remote,
The awful genius of these barbarous woods,
That wont to roam from Indian height to height
With nature's self, in frolic ever new,
Tears from his hoary head his feather'd crown,
And breaks his arrows, and his quiver rends.

EUGENIO.
In mystic words, and metaphoric, strains,
Why would Amyntor strive to hide the cause
Of such unbounded sorrow?

AMYNTOR.
—No, Eugenio!
Amyntor would not hide, but speak the cause,
Could words be found to measure forth his grief,
And ease his lab'ring breast. The god-like George,
The friend of freedom, and the scourge of tyrants,
The father of his country—sleeps in dust;
Of import dreadful from Britannia's coast,
Confirm'd and full, the mournful tidings come.

EUGENIO.
Illustrious monarch! not the Roman boast,
The gen'rous Titus, joy of human kind;
Nor names of later date, William and Henry,
Or Alfred's self, shall fill a brighter page
In fame's eternal roll, than shall the name
Of gracious George. Beneath his equal sway
Oppression was not; Justice pois'd her scale;
No law was trampled, and no right deny'd:
The merchant flourish'd, and the peasant smil'd.
And, oh! my friend, to what amazing height
Of sudden grandeur did his nursing care
Up-raise these colonies; beyond whate'er
Of ancient or of modern times is told.
Prepare we then, due elegies to frame,
Such as may well accord to heart of woe.

AMYNTOR.
That work is done. Behold the goodly choir,
With voice united to the deep-ton'd note
Of swelling organ, rise in act to sing
The consecrated lay—Hark! hark! they strike!—