In mingled fits of ecstasy and pain,

We hail'd the battle won, and mourn'd o'er heroes slain !

Tumultuous hours were those, but now employ
Our tranquil breasts pure hope and chasten'd joy.
No more, in wakeful truce, the jealous hand
Clasps, unrelax'd, the loosely sheathed brand,
But, bare of steel and gauntlet rough, repays,
With pressure fond, the scholar's keen embrace.

Methinks, while yet the pageant treads our aisles,
Approving Science lifts her head, and smiles
Like some imperial dame, who, thron'd on high
To grace the splendid feats of chivalry,
While hotly strive the flower of ev'ry realm,
Sighs o'er the splinter'd lance and cloven helm :
But when the herald parts the dang'rous fray,
And victor knights advance in fair array,
Darts from her radiant eye, like gleam of summer sun,
The pledge of grateful love, the meed that valour won.

Spoken by W. Dalby, B. A. Fellow of Exeter College.

INSPIRING Muse of History,

Who throw'st thy broad and comprehensive span
O'er all the annals of the brave and free,

O'er all th' eventful tale of man:

-Attune the trump of Fame no more

To them, the chiefs of older time,

The hardy sons of Sparta's shore,

The patriots of Athenian clime;

But hail to those who struck th' auspicious blow,

The brother-band of Kings, who laid Oppression low.

Turn from fierce Macedonia's Lord,

Who fir'd the royal Persian's captive fane,

That phrenzied youth, whom suppliant Art implor'd

To

spare her honours, but implor'd in vain.

But say, whose conquering arm

Preserv'd each trophy of thy favour'd clime,

Gave back, secure from scath and harm,

The classic spoils of time?

'Twas He, the Hero of the North:

In him a nobler ALEXANDER view,

Who chas'd the Tyrant in his anger forth,

Yet o'er the prostrate foe his shelt'ring buckler threw.

In generous AUSTRIA see display'd

The awful justice of the Roman name;
By nature, by ambition's force unsway'd,
And deaf to all but Virtue's sacred claim.

TO FRED'RICK'S heir, thrice worthy of his throne,
And Him of SWEDEN, breathe the Spartan flute;
For well might old Tyrtæus' measure suit
Their praise, who rouzed at injur'd Europe's moan,

Like Sparta's martial kings their bosoms bared,

And with their lion-bands each toil and danger shared.

No more in wild romantic strain

Dwell on the record of their fabled worth,

Who quell'd each giant brood, each monster train,

The champion lords of grateful earth.

Thy oaken wreath to grace the vet'ran crest

Of living valour, patriot Muse, decree

To those who sought with firm undaunted breast,
And pierced the serpent-den of Tyranny.

TO BLUCHER and the HETMANN yield the crown ; First in the van of those who smote th' Oppressor down.

Enough through Anarchy's wild night

Hath gleam'd that meteor of portentous birth,
Whose red and desolating light

Shone but to blast the face of bounteous Earth.
Quench'd are its beams, its reign is past;

The

Reviving Europe breathes at last,

And hails in him, th' immortal CZAR,

pure and steadfast ray of Freedom's morning star.

Yet shall she ne'er forget the brave,

Who in that night of storm, with anxious zeal,
Midst doubt and danger, stemm'd the raging wave,

And died to save her sinking weal.

I

Oh, that her triumph's rouzing sound,
Or that the voice of gratitude,

Could pierce the melancholy bound

Of their cold grave, by Europe's tears bedew'd!
-Oh, could it cheer KUTOUSOFF's dwelling low,
Revive the gallant, good MOREAU,

Wake those who sleep on Borodino's plain,
And tell BAGRATHION's shade, he did not fall in vain!

Yet shall she bless his venerable head,
Who shar❜d her labours, wept her ev'ry woe,
Whose bands by WELLINGTON, or NELSON led,
Pour'd rout and slaughter on her foe.
Him, who to cheer the exile's hopeless eye,
Uprear'd the friendly beacon-light

On his own cliffs of Liberty,

That laugh'd to scorn the tempest's baffled might. Europe! remember him, who ever gave

A home to suffering man-a welcome to the brave!

Though He, on dark Affliction's couch laid low,
Hears not, alas! thy blessings on his name,
Yet, Europe, what thou canst, bestow;
Give to his Son the well-earn'd meed of fame :
That Son, more nobly prov'd his own,
When erst, in BOURBON's darkest hour,
He cheer'd the Exile of a rival throne

With all the courtesies of wealth and power,
Than when of late, in BOURBON's day of pride,
He held high festival, triumphant by his side.

He comes, by Europe's wishes blest;
By honour, more than princely birth,
Link'd to either generous Guest,

The mirrors of each other's worth.

For nought so binds the great and good
As glory's prize in concert won,
As danger in a mighty cause pursued,
And mercy's kingly deeds together done.
Britain, through all thy isles rejoice,
And hail with cheering hand and voice,
Those hallow'd ties which bind the patriot THREE,
The champions of the world,—the friends of Liberty!

Written by J. Hughes, B. A. of Oriel College.

The recital of these Verses closed the Ceremonial of this day; and the Chancellor, in the accustomed form, dissolved the Convocation. The Procession, formed in the same order as before, then quitted the Theatre, His Royal Highness the Prince Regent, when at the door, most graciously condescending to turn round, and bow to the Company assembled.

From the Theatre, His Royal Highness, attended by the