Classic Poem

REBUILDING PART OF THE UNIVERSITY OF ABERDEEN .

I N times long past, ere Wealth was Learning's foe,
And dar'd despise the worth he would not know;
Ere mitred Pride, which arts alone had rais'd,
Those very arts in others saw unprais'd;
Friend to mankind, a prelate good and great
The Muses courted to this safe retreat;
Fix'd each fair virgin, decent, in her cell,
With learned Leisure and with Peace to dwell.
The fabric finish'd, to the sovereign's fame,
His own neglecting, he transferr'd his claim:
Here by successive worthies well was taught
Whate'er enlightens or exalts the thought:
With labour planted, and improv'd with care,
The various tree of knowledge flourish'd fair;
Soft and serene the kindly seasons roll'd,
And Science long enjoy'd her age of gold.
Now, dire reverse! impair'd by lapse of years,
A falling waste the Muses' seat appears.
O'er her gray roofs, with baneful ivy bound,
Time, sure destroyer, walks his hostile round:
Silent and slow, and ceaseless in his toil,
He mines each wall, he moulders every pile!
Ruin hangs hovering o'er the fated place,
And dumb Oblivion comes with mended pace.
Sad Learning's genius, with a father's fear,
Beheld the total desolation near;
Beheld the Muses stretch the wing to fly,
And fix'd on Heav'n his sorrow-streaming eye!
From Heav'n, in that dark hour, commission'd came
Mild Charity, ev'n there the foremost name:
Sweet Pity flew before her, softly bright,
At whose felt influence Nature smil'd with light.
" Hear, and rejoice!" — the gracious Pow'r begun —
" Already fir'd by me, thy favourite son
This ruin'd scene remarks with filial eyes,
And from its fall bids fairer fabrics rise.
Ev'n now, behold! where crumbling fragments gray,
In dust deep-bury'd, lost to memory, lay,
The column swells, the well-knit arches bend,
The round dome widens, and the roofs ascend!
" Nor ends the bounty thus: by him bestow'd,
Here Science shall her richest stores unload:
Whate'er long-hid Philosophy has found,
Or the Muse sung, with living laurel crown'd;
Or History descry'd, far-looking sage!
In the dark doubtfulness of distant age;
These, thy best wealth, with curious choice combin'd,
Now treasur'd here, shall form the studious mind;
To wits unborn the wanted succours give,
And fire the Bard whom Genius means to live.
" But teach thy sons the gentle laws of peace;
Let low self-love and pedant discord cease:
Their object truth, utility their aim,
One social spirit reign, in all the same:
Thus aided, arts shall with fresh vigour shoot,
Their cultur'd blossoms ripen into fruit,
Thy faded star dispense a brighter ray,
And each glad Muse renew her noblest lay."