To The Reverend Mr. Lionel Seaman, M.A Poem by Samuel Bowden

Where late an old monastic Structure stood,
In ruins clad, and silent solitude;
In antient times, as popish legends tell,
Of Austin saints, a venerable cell:
(When superstition her dark empire spread,
And learning lurk'd in cobweb, and in shade;
When monks in pious ignorance were nurst,
And tomes immortal lay conceal'd in dust),
A finish'd Fabric now salutes the day,
With pleasing pomp, magnificently gay.
Where yawning arches nodded all around,
The fair Creation rises from the ground;
In graceful elegance attracts the sight,
Smiles o'er the ruins, and dispels the night.


As when the weary traveller, with surprize,
Sees sudden verdure in the desart rise;
Thus midst the waste the beauteous pile appears,
And mocks the spoil of time, the wreck of years.
Admiring crouds the pleasing change explore,
While order reigns, where discord spread before.


Order still pleases each judicious eye,
E'en dunces Art admire,-they know not why.
Beauty and Harmony strike every mind;
In Herds and Hottentots a taste we find:
That eye or organ must have some disease,
Which sounds can't touch, or beauty cannot please.


Thus when you charm the list'ning croud around,
With pious precepts, and pathetic sound;
Each tuneful period still attention draws,
And sullen envy whispers out applause;
The soft conviction strikes the poison'd ear,
And contrite sinners drop th' unwilling tear.
So when mad spiders bite th' Italian swain,
Music's soft power restores the sense again:
Or when relax'd the tuneful hours you spend,
To banish care, or entertain your friend,
The conscious nerves feel each transporting string;
The groves are husht, and birds forget to sing.


Others of prouder palaces may boast,
Of blundering labour, and unmeaning cost;
Where shapeless plans absurdity confess,
In Gothic ornaments, and barbarous dress;
Where stone and timber lie in chaos more,
Than in the quarry, or the wood before:
Like Babel's tower such piles blaspheme the skys,
And mock the more, the more sublime they rise.


Here sense and symmetry in every part,
Command the eye, and captivate the heart.
Now in a cornice, or a light we trace,
Romano's genius, or Vitruvio's grace.
O'er all a grand simplicity is seen,
A modest beauty, and majestic mien.
Here Attic windows welcome in the day,
Fair without state, and without splendor gay:
No wanton rays, with glaring lustre shine,
The light looks solemn, and the day divine:
If some fair villa, or saloon we raise,
Corinthian wreaths, and fluted columns please;
Inlaid Mosaic shews its figur'd face,
And swol'n festoons the gaudy pillars grace:
But when Religion bids the structure rise,
No flow'ry sculptures shou'd allure our eyes;
The plan, like epic, should be grand and one,
And no unhallow'd chissel mark the stone.


From hence expanding landskips strike the view,
Whose wild variety seems always new.
Deep in the vale below, the river glides;
Gay fields and gardens deck its verdant sides;
Peaceful it glides the noisy town along,
Calm, and unmindful of the busy throng:
As some lone pilgrim, bent on his abode,
With steady steps pursues the silent road.
From hence, the hills, the gardens, and the trees,
With blended bowers, and checquer'd beauty's please.
While tufted farms, embosom'd deep in green,
With miscellaneous view divert the scene.


Close by the pile, where stood the antient hall,
A new Gymnasium rears its humbler wall.
Religion thus, with learning in her eye,
Together rise-and shall together die.
One fate attends the Rostrum and the Rod,
Still Pallas trembles, when her temples nod;
Still in one orb, like sister stars they shine;
Move in one track, and in one shade decline.
Frome smiles, and views with pleasure and surprize
Her sacred walls from desolation rise.
The mystic Muse sees brighter days revolve,
The rays of knowledge dawn, the clouds dissolve:
With eyes prophetic sees her sages rule,
And wave the gentle sceptre o'er the school:
Sees youths unborn inspire the classic ground,
And learned accents o'er the roof resound.
While factious Ignorance, with jealous eyes,
Far from the rising seminary flies.


Long may you live, to grace the happy seat,
And peace and pleasure bless the sweet retreat.
Correct mad vice, neglected laws restore;
Bid laurels bloom where ivy crept before;
While Arts and Learning all about you smile.
And exil'd Muses hover o'er the pile.