SONGS

Introduced in the Proceffion on laying the Foundation of new College at Edinburgh, Nov. 16, 1789.

TUNE-The Conquering Hero.

SEE he comes: his way prepare *,

Rend with loud acclaims the air,

Raife aloft the joyful lay,

Loudly celebrate the day.

Sprung from him † whofe mental ray,
The dawr. of fcience turn'd to day;
See he comes, on every hand
Encircled by the learned band.

TUNE-The Hero comes.

LONG, long, dishonour of our Isle,
Neglected lay the Muse's pile;

*The words of the fongs were, at the request of several gentlemen, haflily thrown together for the occafion by the Rev. John Armstrong, M. A. at that time a student in the University of Edinburgh.

+ Napier of Merchifton, (of whom the prefent Lord Napier, who prefided at the proceffion as Grand-Master Mason of Scotland, is a lineal defcendant,) the famous inventor of the Logarithms, who, by the elegant hiftorian of England, is defervedly stiled, a truly Great Man.

And

Her fav'rite walls neglected lay,
Rude, mean, and mould'ring to decay.

He comes to pay the honours due,
To rear her facred pile anew,
And bid the work aloft afcend,
Whofe fame fhall never, never end.

Now, fee him in the task engage,
The glory of the present age;
While, bending from the realm of day,
The Sire fhall pleas'd the Son furvey.

TUNE-Let Ambition fire thy Mind.

Now, now, the glorious work's begun,
That still shall last while ages run,
Whofe fame shall spread thro' ev'ry clime,
And know no end but that of time.

Here Genius, from its ample ftore,
Improving what was known before,
Shall add to Learning boundaries new,
And bring each latent truth to view.

Here useful science, polish'd art,
Shall each distinguish'd hold a part,

And knowledge join, with tafte combin'd,
At once t'improve, adorn the mind,

VOL. IV.

G

TUNE

TUNE-Britannia Rules the Waves.

THE Stone we've seen first plac'd by Napier's hand,
Whofe future pile aloft fhall rife;

Whose fame fhall fpread through every diftant land,
And, rais'd by time, shall reach the skies.

Here, here, to glory train'd, fhall raise a race,
Their country's ornament and shield;
Whose wisdom fhall Britannia's council grace,
Whofe arms thall guard her in the field.

This day, long-wifh'd, to celebrate we'll raise,
Triumphant raife a joyful strain;
This day, at lait arriv'd, to future praife
For ever facred fhall remain.

MILTON'S

MILTON'S GHOST.

AN ELEGY.

Written in the Year 1790, when a Report prevailed that the Grave of Milton had been discovered in Cripplegate Church-yard, on which Occafion the fuppofed Remains of this famous Poet were dug up, and fuffered for fome Days to remain expofed to public View.

'TWAS night, and buried in profound repofe,
The num'rous tribes of bufy mortals lay,
My wakeful eyes alone forgot to close,

And thought fucceeded to the cares of day:
Till wearied nature funk at length to reft,

But Fancy hovering ftill around my head;
Fancy, the fleeplefs tenant of the breaft,

Its airy vifions o'er my flumbers fpread:
When to my view a grizly form appears,
Of mien majestic, but dejected hue,
Reverend, funk deeply in the vale of years,

The Father of the English Song I knew.
Hail, cried I, Author of immortal lays-
My Son, faid he, thefe titles now forbear;
No time remains to wafte in useless praise,
A different fubject now demands our care!

Thou know'ft, and oft has mourn'd how hard
Of evil days and evil tongues the prey *,
Dishonour'd, unrewarded, and forgot,

I funk the unheeded victim of decay.
Obfcurely in a vault my corpfe was laid,

my

Fenc'd by no fhelter from the common doom,
No voice of praise was heard to footh my shade,
No pomp of funeral adorn'd my tomb:
Yet faw I fons their fathers faults difclaim,

The tribute long withheld of honour pay,
My ftrains victorious fill'd the voice of fame,
Nor griev'd I though my corpfe unheeded lay.
But, ah, how shall I tell the dire difgrace!

With hands profane my tomb they now disclose,
My bones torn rudely from their grave deface,
And rob my ashes of their due repose!
Was it for this I toil'd in freedom's cause,
With ceafeless care the arduous labour ply'd,
Dethroning tyrants, and afferting laws,

Till light, alas, its friendly aid deny'd ?
Was it for this, though quench'd my visual ray,
I woo'd the Mufe to build the lofty rhyme,
To more than mortal themes attun'd my lay,

lot,

And foar'd beyond the bounds of fpace and time?

* Milton in one of his works complains, that " he had fallen 66 upon evil days and evil tongues,"

Is