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 LIBRARY F 
 
 ACILITY 
 
 CONYBEARE 
 
 DEATH OF MARQUESS 
 CAMDEN, LATE CHANCE- 
 LLOR OF THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CAMBRIDGE
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 /c^.M' 
 
 TIIK 
 
 DEATH OF MARQUESS CAMDEN, 
 
 LATE CHANCELLOR 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE. 
 
 n ^otm, 
 
 WHICH OBTAINED 
 
 THE CHANCELLOR'S MEDAL 
 
 CAMBRIDGE COMMENCEMENT, 
 
 M.DCCCXLI. 
 
 JOHN CHARLES CONYBEARE, 
 
 OF ST PETER S COLLEGE.
 
 
 THE 
 
 DEATH OF MARQUESS CAMDEN, 
 
 LATE CIIANCELLOII OF THE UNIVERSIT\ OF CAMBRIDGE. 
 
 When thy heart is full, and wild thy mirth, 
 
 And thy thoughts are like the swelling wave, 
 
 'Twill make them purer than thoughts of earth 
 To think of those that arc in the grave : 
 
 For so thy glee will temper'd be, 
 
 And thy sorrow be sweeter than joy to thee. 
 
 Markham. 
 
 Once more, bright Hepstyl', arrowy stream, I stand 
 
 'Mid the wild valleys of my native land. 
 
 Here, as he sings the toiling ox^ to cheer. 
 
 The peasant's song is wafted to my ear : 
 
 And bleat of flocks, o'er wide hills ranging free, 
 
 Blends with thine hoarse wave's mountain melody. 
 
 ' The Hepstyl, or Honddu, joins the river Usk at Brecon. On its right bank 
 stands Brecknock Priory, the seat of the Jeffreys family. The late Marquess 
 Camden's mother was the daughter, and sole representative of Sir N. Jeffreys, 
 the last of the name. 
 
 2 Oxen are very generally used for ploughing in Brecknockshire. The plough- 
 boy accompanies the labours of his team by a rude song, or rather measured halloo, 
 the effect of which is quite unlike any thing I have ever heard in England. Every 
 one who knows the country must remember the large flocks of mountain sheep, 
 which wander apparently wild over unenclosed tracts of barren hill. 
 
 ^ 0S2703 
 
 1
 
 How sweet to wander here at daylight's close, 
 To muse on man's brief hour, and fleeting woes; 
 And — whilst perchance thy mother's sainted shade 
 StiU roams, where erst her maiden footsteps stray'd— 
 Far from life's busy strife, and heartless glee, 
 Camden, to twine a wild-flower wreath for thee. 
 
 Full many a year, my childhood's home, hath past 
 In joy, and sorrow, since I saw thee last; 
 And turned with boyish tears my last long look 
 On copse, and sunny hill, and sparkling brook ; 
 Yet, as amid thy cherish'd scenes I stray. 
 The hour of parting seems but yesterday. 
 Still as half-hid 'mid yew trees "thickening green ^", 
 And ancient elms, thine ivied church is seen. 
 How sadly sweet the thoughts that throng my breast, 
 The memories fond, that may not be represt. 
 Yes, there I learnt, whilst yet a wayward boy. 
 To muse on death's calm sleep with peaceful joy. 
 'Twas autumn, — falling from the cheerless trees. 
 The last leaves flutter'd in the wailing breeze; 
 And eddying still in sad profusion round. 
 Fell crisp and sere upon the hallow'd ground. 
 As there I past, in solemn tones and clear. 
 The funeral hymn* burst wildly on my ear; 
 
 * Ayr gently kissed his pebbly shore, 
 
 O'erhiing with wild woods, thickcniiif; green. 
 
 BtriiMS. 
 "* There is an old custom in some parts of lirecknockshire, and Glamorganshire, 
 of singing hyn)ns as the funeral procession is on its way to the church. On such
 
 Now low, as fell the wind; now swelling higher, 
 
 Like fitful cadence of Eolian lyre; 
 
 Whilst a sad train, in "sable garb of woe," 
 
 Wound round yon hill with measured steps and slow. 
 
 —— I paused and mark'd the orphan's burning tear, 
 
 As low he bent him o'er his father's bier. 
 
 And, as they turned them from the grave away. 
 
 Child-like, I wept, as bitterly as they. 
 
 I When spring had waked to life each floweret fair. 
 
 Again I saw that band of orphans there. 
 
 Dejection's gloom from youth's clear brow had past, 
 
 Though from each eye the tear-drops trickled fast. 
 
 As o'er their father's grave I watch'd them fling 
 
 Frail blossoms, tender nurselings of the spring. 
 
 Sweet thoughts meanwhile, and pleasing sadness stole 
 
 With chastening influence o'er my soften'd soul; 
 
 And still, when musing on a good man's death, 
 
 Methinks I see that starry primrose wreath; 
 
 And sorrowing, Camden, o'er thy mortal doom, 
 
 I mind me of the peasant's flower- lit tomb. 
 
 Sages of old have bid that ranged on high 
 Ancestral* skulls should meet the rev'Uer's eye. 
 That, when joy's laugh rang loudest, man might see 
 The kindred relics of mortality. 
 
 occasions you may sometimes hear the voices of the mourners, while the procession 
 itself is still hidden. The ancient and picturesque custom of dressing the graves 
 with flowers at Easter is very generally maintained in the same places.
 
 8 
 
 I too would know thee. Death; I too would trace 
 
 The darkling outlines of thy shadowy face: 
 
 Fain would I track thee to thy fabled land. 
 
 And learn to " grasp* thee with a living hand." 
 
 Fond thought! What eye may pierce thy realms of gloom? 
 
 What tongue declare the secrets of the tomb? 
 
 Yet why should man, in all he shrinks from, see 
 
 Some symbol dread, some harrowing type of thee ? 
 
 Rather I'll deem thy sleep the wanderer's rest; 
 
 And soothe with softer images my breast. 
 
 Sere leaf, and faded flower shall whisper low 
 
 Of death, to whom earth's fairest forms must bow. 
 
 But chiefly, when the broad autumnal sun 
 
 Sinks to his gorgeous couch, when day is done — 
 
 While all the West with living splendor beams. 
 
 And heaven is fleckt afar with rosy gleams — 
 
 Oh ! chiefly in that glorious scene I'll see. 
 
 Christian, thy death, thy hope of victory. 
 
 Happy the babe that is but briefly prest 
 In anxious fondness to its mother's breast ; 
 Then snatched from all our ceaseless cares below, 
 Ere sin hath stain'd its bosom's spotless snow. ■• 
 Yet, Camden, as with sorrowing eye we gaze 
 On the j)i;rc' tciioiir of thine earthly days, 
 Oh ! who may deem thy soul less surely blest 
 In the calm haven of eternal rest? 
 
 '' Sniedlcy's Poems.
 
 And thou art gone ! yet though on earth no more 
 Each mortal grace shall please, that pleased before ; 
 Still art thou seen by memory's magic ray; 
 Still loved, as though thou hadst not past away. 
 Whilst sorrow, bending o'er thy silent urn. 
 Bids all thy life before her eye return ; 
 The statesman's toils — fair Bayham's calm retreat — * 
 The patriot's' offering at his country's feet. 
 Earth's wealth to earth's best purpose nobly given, 
 The Christian's treasure stored for aye in heaven — 
 And fondly lingering marks with pensive tear 
 The closing" moments of thy bright career. 
 
 The summer's days of idleness" are o'er. 
 And Granta hails her youthful train once more ; 
 Whilst younger faces, and new forms are seen 
 Mixt with the older tenants of the scene. 
 Dost see yon pair? Youth's springy step is there. 
 And manhood's thoughtful brow, and staider air : 
 A sire and son, in converse sweet they stray, 
 And while the thoughtful"' hour of eve away. 
 Now sauntering slow where meeting over-head 
 Their leafy canopy tall lindens spread. 
 
 * Bayham Abbey in Sussex, a country seat of the late Marquess Camden. 
 ' Alludin},' to his giving up to the public the revenue derived from his tellership. 
 During liis life he gave up £360,000, and died poor, for a nobleman. 
 "He was insensible for some time previous to his death. 
 " His death occurred at the commencement of the October Term, 1840. 
 '" euippovij.
 
 10 
 
 They pause awhile, and mark with curious eye. 
 
 The branchy tracery of the arch on high 
 
 Checquer the blue beyond — now turn their gaze 
 
 On yonder chesnuts bright with sunset's rays. 
 
 Where autumn's hand her hectic tints hath shed. 
 
 And sober russet blends with deepening red. 
 
 Sadly the sire recalls youth's joyous day ; 
 
 And each bright dream, that long hath past away. 
 
 But who may tell what feelings undefined. 
 
 What high aspirings fill that youthful mind. 
 
 As fondly gazing with young hope around, 
 
 Granta, he treads at length thy classic ground, 
 
 And drinks with eye of rapturous delight 
 
 The silent beauty of the closing night .'' 
 
 Silent ? ah no ! Hark ! from yon tower hath sped 
 
 The knell of Granta for her noble dead. 
 
 Hark ! every neighbouring fane in sad reply 
 
 Flings its wild death-note to the night-wind's sigh. 
 
 Now floating frequent on the sullen air — 
 
 Now intermitting pause irregular. 
 
 It seems, that fitful, melancholy sound. 
 
 As wide it spreads in airy circles round. 
 
 In thrilling accents on its pathless way. 
 
 To speak strange warnings to each child of clay. 
 
 The old it tells of death too soon their own : 
 
 And young ambition trembles at its tone. 
 
 Spirit of youth, that ever lov'st to glide. 
 Where 'neath deep groves old Camus pours his tide.
 
 11 
 
 That 'midst his halls hast fixt thy fairy throne. 
 
 And boastest yoimg-eyed laughter all thine own ; 
 
 Say, hast thou never shed grief's scalding tear ? 
 
 Say, dost thou mark unmoved thy Camden's bier? 
 
 And what, if brief thy mourning; if the shade 
 
 Of sorrow from thy brow too quickly fade ; 
 
 If saddest thoughts so readily imprest, 
 
 Like summer clouds, pass swiftly from thy breast ? 
 
 Yet there are times when musings high and holy 
 
 Lap thy wrought soul in sweetest melancholy. 
 
 And oft that passing knell shall cheat thine ear. 
 
 Like some loved strain to earliest childhood dear. 
 
 What time thro' massy arches towering high 
 
 Loud anthems pour their storm of melody: 
 
 Or blent at vespers with the chaunted prayer. 
 
 That floats around, and fills the charmed air, 
 
 VV^hilst youthful forms in spotless white arrayed 
 
 Are bowed in prayer, where erst their fathers prayed. 
 
 There is a longing in the human breast. 
 Claims the blue ether as the spirit's rest. 
 The Northern warrior proudly loves to gaze. 
 Where glows afar th' Aurora's rosy blaze ; 
 And, as in streamers bright it flashes high, 
 Or weaves its warm hues o'er the blushing sky. 
 He thinks his fathers' joyous shades he sees, 
 Careering wildly on the rushing breeze. 
 Be't mine to watch pale Cynthia's crescent boat 
 At night's deep noon 'mid fleecy islets float :
 
 12 
 
 Or mark, where with its faint innumeroiis light, 
 The galaxy bespans the brow of night ; 
 And idly dream, that o'er yon azure stray 
 The deathless spirits that have passed away^ 
 And feel, in converse high, the mighty dead 
 O'er the rapt soul their mystic influence shed. 
 Till fancy deems that Newton's eagle eye 
 Is brightly piercing from the deep blue sky; 
 And sees 'mid forms of light her Camden stand 
 The youngest spirit of that guardian band. 
 
 Then, Granta, rouse thee from thy listless gloom ; 
 And fling the" flowers he foster'd o'er his tomb. 
 Should idle sorrow chill the kindling heart, 
 Where "admiration'' claims so large a part?" 
 Should grief be thine ; since, when his course was run, 
 He dropt his mantle on thy noblest son ? 
 
 As mourns the sailor from his country far 
 The setting radiance of his favourite star : 
 Then turns, with murmur'd thanks, his tearful eye, 
 Where some new star-beam gems the sloping sky ; 
 And joys its pale reflected fires to view 
 Restlessly quivering in the rippling blue : 
 So, Camden, borne on time's advancing wave. 
 Sadly we watch'd thee sink into the grave — 
 
 " iVlludinj; to tlic En^^lish IMcihil not being a bequest, like the Browne's Medab, 
 but tlic annual f^ift of the (yhanccllor. 
 '-' (Jrabbc's Poems.
 
 l.j 
 
 So, noble Percy, here we turn to thee, 
 
 To guide us onward o'er time's trackless sea. 
 
 Yet, oh ! bright spirit, if to saints be given 
 To watch o'er mortals from their rest in heaven : 
 Our cares, our dangers, and our joys to know. 
 To mingle with this changeful scene below ; 
 Well may we deem thee with a spirit's love 
 O'er Granta watching from thine home above : 
 Or hovering still, a sleepless guardian, near 
 Each hoary tower to classic memory dear: 
 Nor thou alone — Lo fancy's raptured eye 
 E'en now beholds the bright train floating by. 
 Joying to hail thee, Percy ; and to hear 
 Quaint forms of ancient'^ meaning fill their ear. 
 Methinks I feel their influence fire my soul — 
 Hark thro' the massy pile their voices roll, 
 "The air ye breathe, the very ground ye tread, 
 Is monumental of the mighty dead." 
 
 '3 Alluding to the forms used in tlie Installation of a new Chancellor, The 
 annual prizes are recited in the Senate-House during the Installation. 
 
 P.S. The last thirty lines of this Poem were omitted in the recitation, in conse- 
 quence of the Installation having been deferred after the adjudication of the prize.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
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