Classic Poem

Written for the Installation of His Grace Arthur, Duke of
Wellington, Chancellor of the University. June 11, 1834.

I.

I F , when across the autumnal heaven,
The rude winds draw their restless shroud,
One glorious star to sight be given,
Now dim, now clear, an isle in deeps of cloud;
Watchmen on their lonely tower,
Shepherds by their mountain hold,
Wistful gazing hour by hour,
Trace it through the tempest's fold;
Even such, in records dark of care and crime
Each in high Heaven's appointed time,
Bright names of Heroes glow, that gem the days of old.

II.

When ours are days of old,
Whom will our children's children name
The Star of our dark time, the man high-soul'd,
At whose undying orb the true and bold
May light their lamps with pure heroic flame?
Go ask of every gale that blows,
Of every wave that curls the main; —
Where at burning noon repose
Tigers by some Indian fane;
Where hoary cliffs of Lusitane,
Like aged men, stand waiting on the shore,
And watch the setting sun, and hear th' Atlantic roar.

III.

Then onward, where th' Iberian mountain gale
O'er many a deep monastic vale,
O'er many a golden river loves to fling
His gatherings from the thymy lap of spring,
Ask wide waters proudly spann'd,
Towers upheav'd by War's strong hand,
Oaks upon their mountains rent,
Where th' avenging whirlwind went;
Torrents of Navarre that boil
Choking with abandon'd spoil. —
Ask of the shades endear'd of yore
By tread of holy feet,
Monarch, or maiden vow'd, or calm-eyed priest,
Ask them by whom releas'd,
They breathe their hermit hymns, awful and sweet,
In saintly stillness, as before;
But chiefly pause where Heroes' bones are laid
By Learning's haunted home in Salamanca's glade.

IV.

There, on the cloister'd youth of Spain,
The trumpet call'd, nor call'd in vain; —
Not Aaron's clarion, tun'd and blest on high,
The dread Ark moving nigh,
Thrill'd in a nobler cause, or pour'd a keener strain.
'Mid other cloisters now, and dearer shrines,
The memory rings of that victorious blast,
And years and glories past,
Charm'd to new life, advance in brightening lines.
Restorer of the rightful thrones!
Thee, cottage hearth, thee, palace tower,
Thee, busy mart and studious bower,
Thee, Isis, thine at last, her great Deliverer owns. —
Who knows not how the vulture woke,
Whose " deadly wound was heal'd? "
One breathless aim — 'tis o'er — one stroke
That felon wing for ever broke.
Oh, laurell'd, bloody field!
Day of stern joy for heaven and earth!
Wrong'd earth, avenging heaven!
How well might War's ungentle lore
With thee depart for evermore,
And to the weary world th' expected birth
Of calm, bright years be given!

V.

It may not be: lo, wild and free
Swarms out anew the dragon kind;
Spreads fast and far the kindling war
Against th' Anointed and Enshrined.
But thou, my Mother! green as erst and pure
Thy willows wave, thy meeting waters glide;
Untarnish'd on thy matron breast endure
The treasur'd gems, thy youth's delight and pride:
Firm Loyalty, serene and fond,
Wearing untir'd her lofty bond;
Awful Reverence, bending low
Where'er the heavens their radiance throw:
And Wisdom's mate, Simplicity,
That in the gloom dares trust the guiding arm on high —
These, of old thy guardians tried,
Daily kneeling at thy side,
And wont by night to fan thy vigil fires —
We feel them hovering now around th' aerial spires.
Our votive lays unalter'd swell,
Our angels breathe their willing spell,
Breathe on our incense cloud, and bear
Our welcome high in lucid air,
Telling dark Evil's banded powers
That he who freed the world is ours.

VI.

Stand still in heaven, fair cloud, a space,
Nor urge too fast thy liquid race
Through fields of day! for while thou lingerest here,
Soft hazy gleams from thee descending,
Present, and past, and future blending,
Renew the vision lov'd, our glorious trial-year.
The sainted monarch lights again our aisles
With his own calm foreboding smiles,
(Not courtly smiles, nor earthly bred,)
Sobering Pleasure's airy wiles,
And taming War's too haughty tread.
Around him wait, a grave, white-robed throng,
The chosen angels of the Church he loves:
Guided by them, in her meek power he moves
On to that brightest crown, prepared for him ere long.

VII.

And mailed forms are there,
Such as heroic spirits wear,
Seal'd for high deeds in yon ethereal halls
Oh if th' Elysian dream
Were true, and with emerging gleam
Dread warrior shades at fated intervals
Were seen like stars returning,
And ever brighter burning,
Well might our shrines and bowers their Ormond hail,
Friend of his king, reviv'd in thee,
Ere, quite expiring, on the base earth fail
The trodden spark of loyalty
Ormond, who paced the tottering deck,
Upright amid a nation's wreck,
Who spurn'd the boon the traitor gave,
And slumber'd fearless on the wave. —
Warrior! be such our course and thine!
The eye that never sleeps
With undecaying fires benign
Will guide us o'er the deeps