^(K ANNUAL REGISTER, 1805. 



A POEM ON THE RESTORATION OF LEARNING IN THE EAST; 



Which obtained Mr. Buchanan's Prize. 



By Charles Grant, Esq. M. A. Fellow of Magdalen College. 



Nee remorantur ibi ; sic rerum summa novatur 

 Se?nper. Lucretiuj. 



ii 



a 



O HALL these bright hours of rapture roll away, 



O " And mournful years their gloomy wings display ? 



These beauteous realms shall tyrant War deface, 

 " And fierce oppression crush my favor'd race ?" 

 Thus Ganges' Genius spoke, while yet, sublime 

 With arts and muses, smil'd his native clime, 

 And rich with science, round the plains he loved 

 The golden hours in blooming circle moved. 

 With grief he saw the future ages rise. 

 Dark with their sad and fearful destinies ; 

 Mark'd bleeding Science pinion'd to the ground, 

 And all her blasted trophies withering round ! 

 With grief he saw, through Time's unfolding shade, 

 The fated chiefs in India's spoils array'd, 

 The might of Cassim, either Mahmud's sword, 

 And firm Cothbcddin, Delhi's earliest lord ; 

 Stern Taimur, and th' imperial thrones that tower 

 O'er groaning Mathra and the walls of Gour. 

 ]Vor midst that brood of blood, a fiercer name 

 Than Aurungzebe th' indignant eye could claim, 

 More bold in act, in council more refin'd, 

 A form more hateful, or more dark a mind. 

 Skill'd to deceive, and patient to beguile ^ 



With sleepless efforts of unwearied toil, 

 His youth he shrouds in consecrated bovvers, 

 Where prayer and penance lead the hermit hour» ; 

 Yet not to him those bovvers their sweets impart. 

 The mind compos'd, smooth brow, and spotless heartj 

 No sun-bright visions with new hues adorn 

 Eve's purple cloud, or dewy beams of morn ; 

 But Fancy wakes for him more grim delights, 

 War's imag'd pomp and Murder's savage rites. 

 And, like the Genius of some nightly spell, 

 Peoples with shapes accurs'd the wizard cell : 

 Keen Hate, Revenge, Suspicion's arrowy glare. 

 And all the blood-stain'd joys of Guilt are there : 

 "I'hus by fell visions roused, th' usurper springs 

 Fierce from his lair, to lap the blood of kings. 



Go, count thy spoils, thy trophies grim rehearse, 



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