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Ode Performed in the Senate-House, Cambridge, on the Seventh of July 1835, M.DCCC.XXXV

At the First Commencement after the Installation, and in the Presence, of the Most Noble John Jeffreys, Chancellor of the University [by Christopher Wordsworth]

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INSTALLATION ODE.

M.DCCC.XXXV.

I.

In happier hours of olden time,

Recit


While hearts heroic earn'd a juster fame,
When to the Valleys of his native clime
And lofty Citadels the Victor came,
Crown'd beneath the olives hoar
That fringe with silver the Olympian plain,
Or, where the surges of the double main
Beat on the weary Isthmian shore;—

Air.


Before his Car a Virgin train
Showr'd roses, and a Youthful Band
Danc'd in his path, and festal pæans sung,
And o'er him, waving in her hand
A glistening palm, while breezes fann'd
Her pinions gently pois'd, a Nymph-like Victory hung.

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II.

Scena.

Wherefore flashes yonder gleam
Of Warriors arm'd that pour along
Through Alban vales an argent stream?
Usher'd by the swelling Song,
And rich with pictur'd trophies torn
From Indus, and the rifled Morn,
See the Latian Conqueror come!
Him, Father of his Country, mighty Rome
Salutes, and welcomes with that issuing throng.
Him the champing Coursers bear
Along the Sacred Slope, o'erspann'd
By Arcs triumphal, on whose marble head
Monarchs and bearded Captives stand;
Cities and Kingdoms are before him led,
And Provinces that weep with trailing hair.
And thus his ponderous wheels, slowly revolving, roll
Up to his Heav'n on Earth, the golden Capitol.

III.

Quartett.

Fair is the Warrior's mural crown,
And fair the laurell'd wreath,
The flow'rs that with them twin'd have blown
Fade not, bedimm'd by death.

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Trophies and triumphs are there, not of War;

Recit.


Peace on His brow her olive wreath shall bind,
Who wielding weapons of undaunted Mind,
Wealth for his Country wins, and spurns his own;
A Victor, chaining to his peaceful Car
Passions his Captives: Hence is His Renown,
And these His Crecys, these His Talaveras are!

IV.

Then let a peal of Joy prevail

Chorus.


Camden! to bid Thee hail!
Thee to her sacred Fanes, and storied Halls
Hung with their own heraldic blazonry
Of Names in Arts renown'd and graceful Chivalry,
Names of her deathless Sons, Thee Granta calls!
Welcome to the arching Groves

Solo.


That musing Meditation loves,
And to the Temple's holier shade
By pensile stone in woven fretwork made,
And welcome to Thy venerated Throne

Grand Chorus.


Where Villiers' grace of old and Cecil's grandeur shone,
Fill it! By Patriot Right Thou hast it for thine own!

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V.

But ah! the passions of the trembling Lyre!—

Scena.


What changeful notes those Elder Names inspire!—
For now, another Name, a Royal Name
Is there, with those that heard, but can no longer hear;
Too honor'd for the silent tear,
Too lately lost, for Fame!
But ere it die upon the languid ear
Let His sad Dirge and solemn Knell proclaim,
He once our Bark did guide, now shines his Memory dear
A star engrav'd in Heav'n, by which our course to steer.

VI.

Camden! o'er the Ocean spray

Air.


That Light with faithful gleam shall play
To lead thee on thy willing way.
Now blithely to the sunny gale
Stoop we the bosom of the swelling sail;
Prayers of the noble and the good
Shall waft Thee o'er the buoyant flood;

Scena.


And—Prelude of thy Course and promis'd home—
The shoals escap'd, and cross'd the briny foam,
See! what majestic Augurs come!

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VII.

Foremost, in iron clad, a King is there
Too mighty for his quailing foes,
Too weak to vanquish Care.
He once a Son did weep untimely lost, but now,
Rear'd by himself, on Granta's holy ground,
Sons has he, Sons immortal, found.
And therefore, loosen'd from his faded brow,
With martial Lilies crown'd,
His Coronal he weaves about Thy Vessel's prow;
Next, happier Richmond , he who twin'd
The snowy with th' ensanguin'd Rose,
Brings them, a chaplet on that prow to bind,
And saintly Margaret braids her pearly flower

Solo and Chorus.


To cheer, though billows chafe, and storms around thee lower.
 

Edward III, father of the Black Prince, founder of King's Hall, afterwards part of Trinity College. He added the lilies of France to the arms of England.

Henry VII, and his mother, Lady Margaret of Richmond. He was a great benefactor to King's College. She founded St John's and Christ's Colleges. Her device was the flower called la belle Marguerite.

VIII.

Whither, Sage Nereids, ye who dwell

Scena.


Beneath the boundless Intellectual deep;
And there in Starry Grot, and Coral Cell
Your twilight Vigils keep;
Whither, your realms mysterious to explore,
Is the sacred Vessel bound?

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More holy than that yearly Bark which bore
With dash of silver oar,
And lute's soft sound,
Its festal Pageant to the Delian shore,
While the Earth laugh'd, and Airs ambrosial play'd around.

IX.

Shall it track with upward Course,
By Science led, the River bright
Of Light's primeval beams,
(Like one who hunts the lair of couching Streams,
Niger, Euphrates, or Memnonian Nile)
Till it be moor'd hard by the essential Source
Where the Sun drinks his everlasting gleams,
And Stars in silver Urns updraw their liquid light?

Air.

Or shall it anchor in the crystal bay

Of that belov'd Hesperian Isle,
Where Bards Archaic chant a living lay,
And Antique Heroes at their side
By might and meekness deified,
The calm of cloudless day
With graceful joys beguile,
Where fruits of nectar glow, and golden blossoms smile.

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Yet shall not the Lotus sweet

Duett.


Of that magic isle betray,
Nor beguile the Bark to stay
Becalm'd for ever in that blissful seat,
Forgetful of its Home , and holier Bow'rs
Of Idumean Palms, and Amaranthine Flow'rs.
 

To which subject the attention of the University has recently been more particularly called.

The “cunctorum laborum ac peregrinationum humanarum sabbatum ac portus nobilissimus.” Bacon.

X.

O Camden! swayed by Thy auspicious power

Recit.


Where'er the Vessel aim, whate'er the form
Of Cloud around, in sullen Storm,
In Sunshine, and in Shower,
Still by the Compass may it steer
Of Faith, and Hope with lightsome gleams shall cheer
Caught from the distant hour.
So, when from elemental Wars

Grand Chorus.


And strife of Tempest free,
Like to the Bark by Sirens sung,
The First that plough'd the lonely waste of Sea,
In silver waves of Ether hung,
A Constellation may it be,
And sail among the Stars!
FINIS.