University of Virginia Library

THE FOLLIES of OXFORD, &c.

Well,—Since my HENRY bids me trace
The Manners of the College-Race;
Such as it is, my Verse shall chime
Or classic Lays, or Runic Rhyme!
To thee perhaps, these Lines may haste
Unpolish'd by the Hand of Taste:
Yet, while in rougher Traits, they rise
To hurt the Critic's purged Eyes,
With pleasure shall a Friend peruse
The Sketches of an OXFORD Muse.
And, not in vain, the Muse may try
To shoot the Follies as they fly!—
For here, the motley Brood display
Their Plumes, so boldly to the Day,—
That wing'd by no Finess of Art
Speeds thro' mid Air, the unerring Dart!
First, stuck around with fancied Bays,
Behold the Cormorant's for Praise!
Tho' few, amid these Gothic Spires—
Tho' few the Bards, whom FANCY fires,
See Vanity their Works proclaim—
How grating to the Ear of Fame!
Ye, who (your Heads with Nonsense cramm'd)
“Soar in Pindaricks and—are damn'd”—
Or in soft Elegy complain—
(A very lamentable Strain)
Or in light Song, with wanton Air
Weave Garlands for your Whores to wear;
Why will ye massacre your Time
Fond Boys, by many an idle Rhyme;
And tho' ambitious, still refuse
The Favors of the Classic Muse!
And ye too—say—whose early Youth
A WARTON gave to Taste and Truth.
What envious Power your Steps misleads
Frowning thro' RHEDYCINA's Shades?
Hath not his Classic Wit refin'd
Mid' WICKHAM's Groves your opening Mind?
O WARTON, sweet Enthusiast, hail!
Who lov'st the visionary Vale,
What Time the purple-clouded Sky
In soften'd Colours, soothes thine Eye!
Sweet Nature's Child, whom Fancy charms
Floating in wild fantastic Forms;
And bids “thy Shadowy Tribes of Mind”—
Brighten with all her Powers combin'd.
But lo—yon Troop, whom no Degree
Hath stamp'd, from ARISTOTLE free!
Who yet, amid these Seats of Science,
Hold Sense and Learning at Defiance!
A Troop, that oft' in hostile Show
In Madness aim the rebel Blow—
And led by wild Caprice appear,
With Discipline denouncing War!
Or Idlers, who, at Leisure laid
In RHEDYCINA's holy Shade;
Their Bacchanalian Hours devote
To Wine, and Vacancy of Thought!
By Fashion sway'd, few Gownsmen here
To Conscience lend a listening Ear!
When now, the frowning Pedagogue
No more can persecute, or flog.
The raw, unfetter'd Boy behold
With soaring Hopes of Freedom bold!
And yet the poor misguided Elf
(No Power of thinking for himself)
Gives to the Statutes (nothing loath)
The Prostitution of an Oath,
And pleas'd subscribes by Custom led
To Articles, he never read!
Just enter'd at the College-Gate
Seduction tempts him with a Bait—
And soon, of unsuspecting Heart,
He falls, the Victim of her Art!
From Loungers of a listless Day
Learning flies ridicul'd away!
Enough—if learnt the Logic Rules
For Disputations in the Schools!
See Crowds, high-vested with Degrees
Just qualified—to pay the Fees!
As well might ALMA for a Purse,
With D. D. dignify a Horse!
Ah! think not ye, whose Sons consume
In College-Rust their early Bloom—
Think not, these Sons with purest Flame
Kindle at Learning's awful Name;
Lost in the Reverie's of PLATO,
And mystic Visions of ERATO!
Oh think not, while an ATHENS rises
Again upon the Banks of ISIS—
That here, as wild Enthusiast's dream,
“Wave the hoar Shades of Academe!”
Have Bucks and Bloods—a Letch to rove
Amidst the Philosophic Grove?
—They never trace, thro' Learning's Maze,
The purer Scenes of ancient Days!
For them, old PLATO still may rule
A fancied Empire, or a School!
Will not the Youths, whose Pulses beat,
High-mettled, with equestrian Heat;
Who burn to run the Olympic Round;
Scorn the dull Race, on classic Ground?
And place, amidst a nobler Course
Their Summum Bonum in—a Horse?
Yet the poor Servitor, whose Mind
Droops in its narrow Cell confin'd,
By no wild wishes taught to stray,
Preserves the Tenor of his Way.
How oft o'er Pots of Beer he smiles,
The bright Reward of all his Toils,
And cheers his Soul with golden Dreams
Of Declamations, and of Themes!
—Tho' Minister of Tarts and Cheese,
With Joy he contemplates the Fees,
And in his Purse, for all his Pains
“A splendid Shilling” still retains!
To his fond Hopes indulgent Heaven
Perhaps a Chaplainship has given—
Some Refuge from the Frowns of Care,
Some Shelter from the World's broad glare,
Where sneering INSULT, brushing by,
Or SCORN, that oft inverts her Eye,
Shall bid, no more, his Moments flow,
Dash'd with the Bitterness of Woe!
While such, to servile Fortunes born,
Are doom'd to feel the Shafts of Scorn,
That wound full oft th'ingenuous heart,
Till, callous, it defies the Dart;
Lo yonder LIBERTY (with PRIDE,
And vacant FOLLY by her Side)
Points to the Velvet Cap, whose Power
Exempts from Care the frolic Hour—
There gives, as TRIUMPH lights her Face,
The Silken Gown its Fringed Grace,
And bids it rustle in the Breeze,
A Sanction to the Sons of Ease!
Such, whom the MUSES blush to name,
Let such still glory in their Shame—
Assert (when PLUTUS proves no Friend)
Their happy Priviledge to spend.
And still, with supercilious Air,
The tufted Cap of FOLLY wear.
Gay PLEASURE now has lost the Power
To wing with Speed the lagging Hour;—
He—ne'er hath been inur'd to Study,
Since Books would make his Brain but muddy;
And yet, to act a Jockey's Part,
Has Bracken's Farriery by Heart,
But Classic Volumes, piled on high,
Dark as their Lore mysterious, lie.
“Come Hounds and Horn, with Ardour fire us—
“What a damn'd Bore! the Hunt of CYRUS!
“Ye Pedants, what avails the Idea
“Of chaste, of beautiful PANTHEA?
“Not with her Virtues, but her Charms,
“Come spunky PHILLIS to my Arms!
“Sure had he been a Man of Fashion,
“The King had gratified his Passion:
“Gods! what a Quiz, and Woman-hater
“To spear the Nymph whene'er he met her.”
Thus cries the high-bred Youth, whose Brain is
Best suited to a Game at Tennis;—
Who loud would hail the Billiard-board,
To his own Element restor'd.
Chagrin'd he views the nectar'd Stream
Quaff'd in rich Draughts with sparkling Gleam,
And sees, condemn'd to Capillair,
RIOT whirl round the crashing Chair.
What now can every Wish avail,
To guide, as erst, the spreading Sail,
Or ply, amid the jocund Roar,
On ISIS' Flood, the dashing Oar!
Around, where glows the varied Scene
In soft Diversities of Green—
Where float, by Nature's Hand pourtray'd,
The blended Hues of Light and Shade—
While many a Sun, with chequer'd Dyes,
At Eve illumes the Summer-skies,
In Memory's Eye he views the Day,
Light as his Skiff that danc'd away
When bent to MEDLEY's lov'd Retreat,
Or BINSEY's shade-surrounded Seat;
Or antique GODSTOWE's mouldring Walls,
Where oft' the hoary Fragment falls;
Where wild, o'er buried Beauty's Grave,
The hollow Trees their Branches wave,
And all in gloomy Dirges, hail
The passing GENIUS of the Gale.
Full frequent, FLORIO hears the Sound,
In pleasing Dreams of Horn and Hound;
And at the Music of the Cry
His eager Heart dilates with Joy.
But lo—too high his Transports rise;
He wakes—and all the Vision flies;
While Chapel Bells, for Matin Prayer
Harsh murmur in his startled Ear!
See, as he sits in moping Mood,
Sudden, soft-pac'd, a DUN intrude!
Curst Monster, whose vindictive Strain
With Horror thrills the freezing Vein;
Who threatens, clad in Frowns, alas—till
He whirls his Debtors to the Castle;
There doom'd to sigh, in Durance drear—
Far distant every friendly Ear.
O Ticking, what a Train of Woes,
Sudden, thy lavish Favors close;
Yet thoughtless Gownsmen, by thy Care,
Breathe freely academic Air;
By thee display, though pennyless,
The Kick in fashionable Dress;
And quaff the sparkling Bowl by thee,
In all the Roar of social Glee!
And such, “when free from College Rules
And Lumber of the lying Schools,
Indulge, as YAHOO Passion fires,
In all the Pride of rural Squires;
Or hail the Pleasures of the Chace
Though destin'd for a holy Race;
And shew—to carry still the Farce on
How RIOT sublimates the PARSON!
Yet are there some can waste their whole Age
Amid the Dullness of a College;
Whom Reason and Goodsense deride;
The Sons of PEDANTRY and PRIDE!
Heav'ns! of how cynnical a Nature
The school-taught Race of ALMA MATER!
Who, of cramp'd Mind and clouded Brain
Bind GENIUS in a Gothic Chain;
Whose Learning only proves of Use
Reason to vitiate or traduce;
While dark SMIGLECIUS frowns away
Each unsophisticated Ray!
Yet such as these affect the Skies;
Too supercilious to be wise!
O PEDANTRY, by thee dismay'd,
What Numbers fly the Classic Shade!
How droops, beneath thy harsh Controul;
The Mutuality of Soul!
Those generous Feelings, which impart
Refinement to the human Heart.—
That sweet Benevolence, which glows
With Anguish at another's Woes;
And, as it sighs to soothe Distress—
Feels every Selfish Sorrow less:
Which, sparkling in th'expressive Eye,
Derives Delight from others Joy!
These clouded Virtues shrink away
Pale at the hoar Collegian's Sway—
These Charities full quickly fade
In Pedantry's cimmerian Shade!
Beneath the Yews funereal Gloom
The Flow'rets lose their brightest Bloom,
And tainted by the poisonous Gale
Breathe faint their Fragrance o'er the Vale.
Thus though 'tis theirs to guide our Youth
Where SCIENCE points to TASTE and TRUTH,
These Sages cloud with Scowl austere
The Paths of SCIENCE, dark and drear,
And, with the noblest Joys at Strife,
Quench the fair Star of social Life!
And, should my Friend, a Pedant Fool,
Like Clock-work, breathe by stated Rule;—
In all the Sourness of Grimace
Distort his curvilinear Face,
And, strictly to Mechanic's true,
Walk mathematically too,
Till haply (if no Flapper plies,
With rousing Strokes, his Ears and Eyes)
In the wild Maze of Problems lost
He bounce his Head against a Post;
Or while in Theories his Brain
Draws Forms of Solids on a Plane,
Stumbling (though singular the Fact is)
Prove Stereometry by Practice,
Who could, in such a learned Bustle,
Keep unrelax'd a single Muscle?
But should he act the CYNIC's Part
With deep Malignity of Heart,
And, studious to diffuse o'er all
Perverted Nature's bitter Gall,
Swell with dark Triumph to survey
The Rose of PLEASURE fade away;—
Should he (though oft' constrain'd to lower
The paltry Fasces of his Power,
To bold ASSURANCE pressing near)
Treat MODEST MERIT with a Sneer;—
Insulting wound the ingenuous Breast
By TASTE and SENTIMENT impress'd,
And while his Heart the Vultures tear,
Feel not a single Virtue there,
Say—would not Indignation hiss
At such a Character as this?
What though with self-important Air,
While Learning's borrow'd Plumes they wear,
Such Pedant Brutes devoutly join
In Sacrifice around her Shrine;
And, since their DIGNITIES respect her,
Pour out Libations in a Lecture!
Yet must each Student try his Fate in
The Wisdom of the Greek and Latin?
And, indiscriminately class'd,
Does HOMER suit the various Taste?
Is every Student doom'd to read
PLATO's, or ARISTOTLE's Creed?
All, with a View to bless Mankind,
Behold for different Fates design'd!
While that asserts his Country's Laws
This vindicates the Christian Cause;
A Third exerts the healing Trade,
While this must preach, and that must plead:
Yet, with no Lessons to prepare
Or for the Pulpit, or the Bar,
Here all must tread the same dull Round
To gather Weeds on Classic Ground;
Alas!—regardless of the Toils
That wait them in more steril Soils!
Grave Gentlemen, your Want of Brains
The Law of empty Space explains;
And, (no Dispute about the Matter)
Proves there's a Vacuum in Nature!
Amid the Geometric Process
The Cloud you raise as dark as Gross is—
Your Pupils with the murder'd Lore
Of EUCLID, diagram'd all o'er!
But holds not—a Station
Blest by the Light of Demonstration—
Besure in Mathematics greater
Than TYCHO, or than ERRA PATER?
What tho' (as sings the Goddess FAME)
On Foot from SCOTIA's Realms he came—
With Knap-sack on his Shoulder found
And measur'd many a Rood of Ground—
What tho' (perhaps the Goddess ly'd)
To CAMS high Sons the Sage apply'd
There never doom'd (a rash Adventure)
To bring his Labours to a Centre.
And, mid a learned Jury bit,
Was found—for OXFORD only fit?
Labours avaunt! for lo—the Smiles
Of ISIS' Sons reward his Toils,
And give, with easy Burthen blest,
The Caledonian Pilgrim Rest;
For though 'twas difficult to sham
Fair Science on the Banks of CAM,
At ISIS' shallow Streams he knew
The “Shadow of a Shade” wou'd do.
Yet are there some, we own, ev'n here
Lov'd by the MUSE—to WISDOM dear!
Yet are there some, a chosen Few,
Whose Steps the Paths of TRUTH pursue:—
Who, while the Solar Systems blaze
A HORNSBY's Eloquence displays,
And, rushing on th'astonish'd Soul,
While Worlds on Worlds in Order roll,
Who but might fancy that his Ears
Thrill'd with the Music of the Spheres?
Who can like polish'd SCOTT explore
The Secrets of historic Lore;
And, tracing to its distant Springs
The fair Variety of Things,
Observe, like Him, with Eagle Eyes
How all in due Connection rise—
With Penetration deeply scan
Like him, the mighty Maze of Man—
Like him compare the various Ways
Of Heroes, fam'd in elder Days;
With Characters of Modern Times
In all their Virtues, and their Crimes?
Who but admires a RANDOLPH's Taste
In Diction classically chaste;
RANDOLPH, whose easy Pen displays
The modest Charms of ancient Days?
Sure, in her attic Robe attir'd,
Such Charms SIMPLICITY inspir'd;
Breath'd o'er his Soul her genuine Thought,
And all the Force of Nature taught.
But left in Fictions Note thou sing,
O check my Muse the plausive String!
For here, how few with Ardor hail
Thee SCIENCE 'midst thy Cloysters pale—
For here, what Numbers vainly waste
Their Moments, unchastiz'd by TASTE!
Ye FELLOWS, who demurely doze
Blest with Stupidity's Repose,
(And sure, unless the Poet lies
“'Tis arrant Folly to be wise”)
Say, should the MUSE hold forth to view
Your Pictures, drawn severely true—
Say would not Shame in Blushes rise,
Oft' as the Colours caught your Eyes?
Ah no—so bronzed o'er with Brass
Shame never ting'd a Fellow's Face;—
What then avails thy Muse so long
To waste, in whipping Posts, a Thong.
What though thou lash the Fools, behold
Still in the Paths of Folly bold,
With all the Glare of Impudence
They rove, secure from Shame, or Sense:
Still, listless, in the Common Room,
They dream of Happiness to come,
And, weary of their learned Life,
Sigh for a Living, or a Wife!
Still, when their Reverend Heads incline,
Fill'd with the drowsy Fumes of Wine,
They haste to BAGGS's, void of Grace,
(I've mark'd their desultory Pace)
And there, REFLEXION, far from thee
Nod o'er the Nation's News and Tea;
Or Cups of frequent Coffee sip,
(Coffee, the Curer of the Hyp—
Coffee, that makes ev'n Fellows wise,)
And see, like Owls, with half shut Eyes:
Still as lewd Appetite prevails,
They love the Wit of smutty Tales,
Paint, with the Colouring of a TITIAN
The glowing Raptures of Fruition;
And hold (tho' Ministers of God)
Their first, best Minister, a Bawd!
Yet in the Rear, a reverend Train
Demand a tributary Strain;
Since FORTUNE whimsically sheds,
“A cruel Sunshine” round their Heads.
Perhaps my Muse may rue the Hour
She dar'd to censure Fools in Power;
Perhaps she's doom'd to sue for Pardon
To MASTER, PRINCIPAL, or WARDEN,
In Convocation on her Knees,
For ridiculing High Degrees.
But when a HELLUO stuffs the Stall,
Or 'mid the lofty window'd Hall
Waddles in Robes that, full display'd
Diffuse around an awful Shade—
When, as each Gaudy marks the Year
And gives the Day to festful Cheer,
In Scarlet Pomp the Sage carouses,
Full of the Dignity of Houses;—
When great in Paunch, in Honours great,
At Golgotha the DOCTORS meet,
And launch abroad their mighty Bulls
In Thunder, from the Place of Skulls,
The Muse would bid, to swell the Strain
A TERRE FILIUS rise again;
And, stor'd with many a tragic Rhyme,
Eke out the ludicrous sublime.
What though a RANDOLPH, strictly just,
Supports, with Steadiness, his Trust;
And in a milder, lovelier Sphere
An ADAMS spreads his Influence there!
Though in a BAGOT pleas'd we prove
True classic Taste and christian Love,
But here y'clad in Lion's Hide,
Asses, but ill conceal'd preside.
Who laughs not, while without a Nous
The genuine Head of many a House.
Dances Divinity's Degree
How versatile, into a SEE?
When Slumbers in an Owl's Repose
The drowsy Head of ------ ------?
In such a Power we well might rate
(Would Heav'n in pity to the Fate
Of Gownsmen, bid it be inert)
Ev'n inactivity desert!
But ah! dark Tyranny of Soul
O'er Dulness throws a deeper Stole.
Lo such, by Sinecures allur'd,
Lo such maintain the Written Word;
While full of Rottenness within
In Doctors Robes they cloak their Sin:
And, Fat Pluralities their Aim,
Thrive in their Heavenly Father's Name!
For them, the tottering Church may nod,
Thus pamper'd in the Name of God:
For such, in solemn Notes and Slow,
The deep Cathedral Organs blow:
But can the Chant, the Blaze of Lights
And all the Pageantry of Rites;
Can these the humble Breast inspire
With PIETY's etherial Fire?
Ah, who displays with Ardor there,
The meek Simplicity of Prayer?
Say, can the Pomp of Papal Form
The Heart with true Devotion warm?
Can endless Halelujah's rise
In holy Fervor to the Skies?
Lo where St. MARY's antique Tower
Proud rising crowns the Classic Bower,
A motley mercenary Herd
Ordain'd to propagate the Word,
These with peculiar Grace impart
Religious Comfort to the Heart!
Oft' while their Powers might raise a Sneer,
Or draw from PITY's Eye the Tear,
MORPHEUS lets fall his gentle dews
And Slumbers creep along the Pews!
Go shameless Tribe, and walk the Town,
Vile Hirelings in your draggled Gown;
Or, seiz'd with a religious Qualm,
At MERTON sing the hundredth Psalm,
With Scouts the Chorus join, or hail
Their WARDEN with—a Pot of Ale!
The Liturgy for Half-pence read,
Or bury for a Groat a Head;
While (Congregation, staring round)
Ye reel o'er consecrated Ground,
And, thus prepar'd your Souls to save,
Totter into the yawning Grave!
Around this Spot a hundred Fanes,
(Unvisited by rural Deans)
That strike with Awe the roving Eye
Scatter'd in mournful Ruin lie.
Yonder, in solitary Guise
Mantled with flaunting Ivy, rise
Walls, whose hoar Front at Distance seen,
Frowns thro' their Veil of paly Green.
See, as thy Steps approach the Tombs,
Damp with the Yews ungenial Glooms,
The Rye-Grass in the crumbling Wall,
Tremble, prophetic of its Fall!
And hark-the shrilly Blasts pervade
Each Chasm that hoary Time has made.
And now, thy fear-struck Fancy faints
At the drear Images she paints!
At the dim Forms that glide within,
Such as in charnel Vaults are seen!
But hark—while moves the Time-worn Door,
In ominous Hinges harshly roar;
A Voice (it says, or seems to say)
“Lo Spectres grimly guard the Way,”
And list—it murmurs faint again,
“Hence be the Steps of the Profane:”—
Yonder, by FANCY's magic Might,
Dances, before the dizzy Sight,
A mutilated Shape—then fled—
Then vanish'd, no ideal Shade!
O Horror—there again it came,
With gorgon Front and Eyes of Flame!
Gods! why with such a ghostly Tread
Thus tremble at the Mystic Head?
And kneel so piteously—and stare
With Horror bolt upright thy Hair?
A Calf's Head in the Parson's Pew,
Zounds—is the Ghost that blasts thy View!
Alas! instead of sainted Feet,
And Symphonies divinely sweet—
Instead of soft descending Choirs
Whom Heav'ns own Harmony inspires,
There Herds and Flocks, from Storms abroad
Take shelter in the House of God;
And christian Flocks who gather there,
By their good Shepherd's pious Care,
Blind, though not innocent as these,
Depart in Ignorance, and Peace.
Around the Spot, where KNOWLEDGE streams,
And sheds the Sunshine of her Beams,
Around this Spot does IGNORANCE sway,
Bosoms that never own'd a Ray—
That Priviledge of human Kind,
The Emanation of the Mind?
Where no RELIGION lends its Aid
Can ought illumine ERROR's shade?
What Wonder Flocks disorder'd stray,
When ev'n their Shepherds lose their Way—
When Ministers ordain'd to preach
(Without Ability to teach)
Are quite unanxious to impart,
One Precept to amend the Heart;—
And hurrying breathless through the Pray'rs
Reach glad the Goal, and bless their Stars!
Such rise to Honors in the Church,
And leave true Merit in the Lurch.
Thus are the mercenary Herd
Of cringing Sycophants prefer'd!
Thus undistinguish'd shall we find,
Ev'n Worth of far superior Kind;
And view with Scorn the happier Fate
Of Fools and Knaves in Church and State!
How many blest by Learning's Ray,
Pass in sequester'd Shades the Day!
Unheard, how oft' the Poet sings;
Neglect weighs down the Muses Wings.
Pensive around the Common Room,
While WARTON “Snuffs his Pipe's Perfume,”
See C---, whose inglorious Name
Will never grace the Rolls of FAME,
Strut dignified—with not a Sprig
Of Bay Leaves stuck about his Wig!
“Lo there” (indignant GENIUS cries)
“In yon clipt Shade, a WARTON lies!
“How oft', while Eve her Landscapes drew,
“He hail'd my Steps to yonder Yew!
“For him I wove, in Fancy's Loom
“A Texture of perrenial Bloom!
“For him, with Joy th'assembled NINE,
“Their amplest Wreath conspir'd to twine!
“Yet what alas, but idle Praise,
“Rewards my sweetest Minstrels Lays!
“Thus droop my Sons with Scorn repaid
“Listless amid the Sombre Shade!
“What though I raise the Muses Flame,
“With ardent Hopes of deathless Fame,
“Yet cold Neglect's severe Controul,
“Chills the warm Current of the Soul!”
And see, the Silver Slipper'd MAID,
Her Robes of glossy Verdure fade!
See, in the wildest Anguish prest,
To yon pale Urn her heaving Breast!
Still NATURE's Hand, her Streams around,
Scatters with simple Flowers the Ground;
But, mark'd by no poetic Eye,
Their Hues in breathing Incense die
Well may the faded Virgin glow,
With varied Energies of Woe.
Long has she deem'd her “TRIUMPHS” vain,
Though her own Poet fram'd the Strain,
Haply ev'n HE may breath e'er long
The Spirit of despairing Song,
And own, reclin'd his pensive Head,
The “TEARS OF ISIS” justly shed.