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Till midway now-that strange and fiery form Showed his dread visage lightening through the

storm ; With withering splendor blasted all their might, And broke their chariot- wheels, and inarred their

coursers' flight. • Fly, Misraim, fly :'-The ravenous foods they

see, And fiercer than the floods, the Deity. 'Fly, Misraim, fly:-From Edom's coral strand Again the prophet stretched his dreadful wand :With one wild crash the thundering waters sweep, And all is waves--a dark and lonely deep-Yet o'er those lonely waves such njurmurs past, As mortal waising swelled the nightly blast : And strange and sad the whispering breezes bore The groans of Egypt to Arabia's shore. 0, welcome caine the morn, where Israel

stood In trustless wonder by the avenging flood : 0, welcome came the cheerful morn, to show The drifted wreck of Zoan's pride below: The mangled limbs of men-the broken carA few sad relics of a nation's war: Alas, how few!~Then, soft as Elim's well The precious tears of new-born freedom fell. And he, whose hardened heart alike had borne

The house of bondage and the oppressor's scorn,
The stubborn slave, by hope's new beams subdued,
In faltering accents sobbed his gratitude-
Till kindling into warmer zeal, around
The virgin timbrel waked its silver sound:
And in fierce joy, no more by doubt suppressed,
The struggling spirit throbbed in Miriam's breast.
She, with bare arms, and fixing on the sky
The dark transparence of her lucid eye,
Poured on the winds of heaven her wild sweet

Where now,' she sang, 'the tall Egyptian spear?
On's sunlike shield, and Zoan's chariot, where?
Above their ranks the whelming waters spread.
Shout, Israel, for the Lord has triumphed.'-
And every pause between, as Miriam sang,
From tribe to tribe the martial thunder rang,
And loud and far their stormy chorus spread, -
Shout, Israel, for the Lord hath triumphed.'




YE viewless guardians of these sacred shades,
Dear dreams of early song, Aonian maids!
And you, illustrious dead, whose spirits speak
In every flush that tints the student's cheek,
As, wearied with the world, he seeks again
The page of better times and greater men;
If with pure worship we your steps pursue,
And youth, and health, and rest forget for you,
(Whom most we serve, to whom our lamp burns

Through the long toils of not ingrateful night,)
Yet, yet be present.-Let the worldly train
Mock our cheap joys, and hate our useless strain,
Intent on freighted wealth, or proud to rear
The fleece Iherian or the pampered steer ;-
Let sterner science with unwearied eye
Explore the circling spheres and map the sky;
His long-drawn mole let lordly commerce scan,


And of his iron arch the rainbow span :
Yet, while in burning characters impressed,
The poet's lesson stamps the youthful breast,
Bids the rapt boy o'er suffering virtue bleed,
Adore a brave or bless a gentle deed,
And in warm feeling from the storied page
Arise the saint, the hero, or the sage ;
Such be our toil !-Nor doubt we to explore
The thorny maze of dialectic lore,
To climb the chariot of the gods, or scan
The secret workings of the soul of man ;
Upborne aloft on Plato's eagle flight,
Or the slow pinion of the Stagyrite ;
And those gray spoils of Herculanean pride,
If aught of yet untasted sweets they hide ;
If Padua's sage be there, or art have power
To wake Menander froin his secret bower ;
Such be our toil !-Nor vain the labor proves,
Which Oxford honors, and which Grenville loves.
-On, eloquent and firm !-whose warning high
Rebuked the rising surge of anarchy,
When, like those brethren stars to seamen known,
In kindred splendor Pitt and Grenville shone;
On in thy glorious course; not yet the wave
Has ceased to lash the shore, nor storm forgot to


Go on; and 0, while adverse factions raise
To thy pure worth involuntary praise ;


While Gambia's swarthy tribes thy mercies bless,
And from thy counsels date their happiness;
Say, (for thine Isis yet recalls with pride
Thy youthful triumphs by her leafy side,)
Say, hast thou scorned, 'mid pomp, and wealth,

and power,
The sober transports of a studious hour ?-
No, statesman, no !- thy patriot fire was fed
From the warm embers of the mighty dead;
And thy strong spirit's patient grasp combined
The souls of ages in a single mind.
-By arts like these, amidst a world of foes,
Eye of the earth, th’ Athenian glory rose ;-
Thus, last and best of Romans, Brutus shone;
Our Somers thus, and thus our Clarendon ;
Such Cobham was ;-such, Grenville, long be

thou, Our boast before-our chief and champion now.

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