Ouse, the River.

THE DOG AND THE WATER-LILY.

THE

HE noon was shady, and soft airs
Swept Ouse's silent tide,

When, 'scaped from literary cares,
I wandered on his side.

My spaniel, prettiest of his race,
And high in pedigree

(Two nymphs adorned with every grace That spaniel found for me),

Now wantoned lost in flags and reeds,
Now starting into sight,

Pursued the swallow o'er the meads
With scarce a slower flight.

It was the time when Ouse displayed
His lilies newly blown;

Their beauties I intent surveyed,

And one I wished my own.

With cane extended far I sought
To steer it close to land;

But still the prize, though nearly caught,
Escaped my eager hand.

Beau marked my unsuccessful pains

With fixed, considerate face,

And puzzling set his puppy brains
To comprehend the case.

But with a cherup clear and strong
Dispersing all his dream,

I thence withdrew, and followed long
The windings of the stream.

My ramble ended, I returned;
Beau, trotting far before,

The floating wreath again discerned,
And plunging left the shore.

I saw him with that lily cropped

Impatient swim to meet

My quick approach, and soon he dropped

The treasure at my feet.

Charmed with the sight, "The world," I cried,

"Shall hear of this thy deed;

My dog shall mortify the pride
Of man's superior breed:

"But chief myself I will enjoin,
Awake at duty's call,

To show a love as prompt as thine
To Him who gives me all."

William Cowper.

Y

Oxford.

OXFORD.

fretted pinnacles, ye fanes sublime,

Ye towers that wear the mossy vest of time; Ye massy piles of old munificence,

At once the pride of learning and defence;
Ye cloisters pale, that, lengthening to the sight,
To contemplation, step by step, invite;

-

Ye high-arched walks, where oft the whispers clear
Of harps unseen have swept the poet's ear;
Ye temples dim, where pious duty pays
Her holy hymns of ever-echoing praise;
Lo! your loved Isis, from the bordering vale,
With all a mother's fondness, bids you hail!
Hail, Oxford, hail! of all that's good and great,
Of all that's fair, the guardian and the seat;
Nurse of each brave pursuit, each generous aim,
By truth exalted to the throne of fame!
Like Greece in science and in liberty,
As Athens learned, as Lacedemon free!
Even now, confessed to my adoring eyes,
In awful ranks thy gifted sons arise.
Tuning to knightly tale his British reeds,
Thy genuine bards immortal Chaucer leads:
His hoary head o'erlooks the gazing choir,
And beams on all around celestial fire.
With graceful step see Addison advance,

The sweetest child of Attic elegance:
See Chillingworth the depths of doubt explore,
And Selden ope the rolls of ancient lore:
To all but his beloved embrace denied,
See Locke lead Reason, his majestic bride:
See Hammond pierce Religion's golden mine,
And spread the treasured stores of truth divine.
Thomas Warton.

OXFORD.

0

OXFORD! let delivered Britain know

From thy famed seats her several blessings flow.

The accoutred barons and assisting knights

In thee prepared for council or for fights,
Planned and obtained her civil liberty:
Truth found her fearless witnesses in thee;

When, tried as gold, saints, from thy tottering pyres,

Rose up to heaven, Elijah-like, in fires!

Peace to thy walls! and honor to thy name!

May age to age record thy gathering fame!

While thy still favored seats pour forth their youth, Brave advocates of liberty and truth!

In fair succession rise to bless the realm!

Fathers in church, and statesmen at the helm !

OXFORD, MAY 30, 1820.

E sacred nurseries of blooming youth!

YE

Anonymous.

In whose collegiate shelter England's flowers Expand, enjoying through their vernal hours

The air of liberty, the light of truth;

Much have ye suffered from Time's gnawing tooth,
Yet, O ye spires of Oxford! domes and towers!
Gardens and groves! your presence overpowers
The soberness of reason; till, in sooth,
Transformed, and rushing on a bold exchange,
I slight my own beloved Cam, to range
Where silver Isis leads my stripling feet;
Pace the long avenue, or glide adown

The stream-like windings of that glorious street,
An eager novice robed in fluttering gown!

William Wordsworth.

I

ON REVISITING OXFORD.

NEVER hear the sound of thy glad bells, Oxford! and chime harmonious, but I say (Sighing to think how time has worn away), "Some spirit speaks in the sweet tone that swells, Heard after years of absence, from the vale

Where Cherwell winds." Most true it speaks the tale
Of days departed, and its voice recalls

Hours of delight and hope in the gay tide
Of life, and many friends now scattered wide
By many fates. Peace be within thy walls!
I have scarce heart to visit thee; but yet,
Denied the joys sought in thy shades, - denied
Each better hope, since my poor

died,

What I have owed to thee my heart can ne'er forget!

William Lisle Bowles.