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GRAY

Engraved by [...] from an original drawing in the poſseſsion of the [...]

Publiſhed for I. Bell Britiſh Library Strand March 2d. 1782.

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BELL'S EDITION.
THE POETS OF GREAT BRITAIN COMPLETE FROM CHAUCER [...] CHURCHILL.

GRAY

On Thracia's Hills the Lord of War
Has curb'd the fury of his Car.

Rebecca del. M [...]ard sculp.

London. Printed for John Bell Britiſh Library Octr. 21ſt. 1782.

THE POETICAL WORKS OF THOMAS GRAY.
WITH THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR.

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Thy form benign oh Goddeſs! wear,
Thy milder influence impart—
To ſoften not to wound my heart:
The gen'rous ſpark extinct revive,
Teach me to love and to forgive;
Exact my own defects to ſcan,
What others are to feel, and know myſelf a man.
ODE TO ADVERSITY.
Too poor for a bribe, and too proud to importune,
He had not the method of making a fortune;
Could love and could hate ſo was thought ſomewhat odd;
No very great wit; he believ'd in a God:
A poſt or a penſion he did not deſire,
But left church and ſtate to Charles Townſhend and Squire.
GRAY of himſelf.

EDINBURG: AT THE Apollo Preſs, BY THE MARTINS. Anno 1782.

THE POETICAL WORKS OF THOMAS GRAY.
CONTAINING HIS ODES, MISCELLANIES, &c. &c. &c.

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Hark! the Fatal Siſters join—
Hail, ye midnight Siſters! hail—
O'er the glory of the land,
O'er the innocent and gay,
O'er the Muſes' tuneful band,
Weave the fun'ral web of GRAY.
'Tis-done, 't is done—
He ſinks, he groans, he falls, a lifeleſs corſe—
O'er his green grave, in Contemplation's guiſe,
Oft' let the pilgrim drop a ſilent tear,
Oft' let the ſhepherd's tender accents riſe,
Big with the ſweets of each revolving year,
Till proſtrate Time adore his deathleſs name,
Fix'd on the ſolid baſe of adamantine fame.
J. T. TO MEM. OF GRAY.

EDINBURG: AT THE Apollo Preſs, BY THE MARTINS. Anno 1782.

THE LIFE OF THOMAS GRAY.

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THOMAS GRAY, the ſubject of this narrative, was the fifth ſon of Mr. Philip Gray, whoſe father was a conſiderable merchant, and who himſelf was engaged in buſineſs*, though not to the pecuniary advantage of his family, for being of a ſhy and indolent temper he ſuffered thoſe opportunities of improving his fortune to eſcape him which others would have eagerly embraced. His ſon Thomas was born Dec. 26th 1716, in Cornhill London, and ſent early to Eton ſchool under the tuition of Mr. Antrobus his maternal uncle. This gentleman, being both a good ſcholar and a man of taſte, was aſſiduous in directing the attention of his nephew to thoſe ſources of improvement which he afterwards applied to with ſo much ſucceſs. During the time of Mr. Gray's continuance in this abode of the Muſes he contracted the ſtricteſt intimacy with two of their votaries, whoſe diſpoſitions in many reſpects were congenial with his own. One of theſe was the Honourable Horace Walpole, who hath been ſo long conſpicuous for his ſkill in the fine arts and his love of letters; the other Richard Weſt Eſq. ſon to a late lord chancellor of Ireland, and grandſon by his mother to the celebrated Biſhop Burnet. As the accident of his uncle's being an aſſiſtant at Eton was the [vi] cauſe of his going thither for his claſſical learning, ſo to this gentleman's being Fellow of Peterhouſe in Cambridge it was owing that he was ſent to the ſame univerſity, and admitted in the year 1734 a Penſioner of the ſame college.

The reliſh Mr. Gray had contracted for polite literature before his removal to Cambridge rendered the abſtruſe ſtudies which then almoſt wholly engroſſed, and at preſent too much occupy, the attention of young men altogether taſteleſs and irkfome: ſtill ‘"Song was his favourite and firſt purſuit;"’ and tho' his thoughts were directed towards the law as a profeſſion for life, yet like Garrick in the picture between Tragedy and Comedy, he hung back with fond reluctance on the Muſe. Nor was this bias of his inclination a little influenced by the conſtant exhortations of his two friends, particularly Mr. Weſt, who was now removed to Chriſt's Church Oxford, and whoſe propenſity to poetry and diſlike to the law appear to have even exceeded his own. After having paſſed four years in college Mr. Gray returned to his father in Town, where he remained till the following ſpring, at which time Mr. Walpole being about to travel invited his friend to go along with him. The invitation was accepted, and they accordingly ſet out for Italy together, but ſome diſagreement ariſing between them (occaſioned, as Mr. Walpole ingenuouſly confeſſes, leſs by his companion's conduct than his own) [vii] they parted at Rheggio, from whence, after having made a ſhort ſtay at Venice, Mr. Gray returned. The time however devoted to this excurſion was by no means loſt: nothing that our poet ſaw was ſuffered to eſcape him. From no relation, though purpoſely deſigned for the publick eye, can ſo much information be drawn as from his caſual letters. During this interval of his friend's abſence Mr. Weſt, finding that his averſion to the profeſſion for which he had deſtined himſelf (and with a view to which he had reſided ſome time in the Temple) became almoſt inſuperable, wrote to Mr. Gray on the ſubject, expreſſing in the ſtrongeſt manner the ennui that almoſt overwhelmed him. To this letter an anſwer was returned which preſents the fineſt picture of the writer's mind, and abounds with a juſtneſs of thinking far beyond his years. Gray was now at Florence, where he had ſpent in all eleven months, amuſing himſelf at intervals with poetical compoſitions. It was here that he conceived the deſign, and produced the firſt book, of a didactick poem in Latin entitled De Principiis Cogitandi, and addreſſed to Mr. Weſt, a work which he unfortunately never completed. From Florence proceeding to Venice he returned to England, deviating but little from the route he had gone, but particularly taking once more in his way the Grand Chartreuſe, where in this viſit he wrote on the album of that monaſtery the following Alcaick ode:

[viii]
Oh Tu, ſeveri Religio loci,
Quocunque gaudes nomine (non leve
Nativa nam certè fluenta
Numen habet, vetereſque ſylvas;
Praeſentiorem et conſpicimus Deum
Per invias rupes, fera per juga,
Clivoſque praeruptos, ſonantes
Inter aquas, nemorumque noctem;
Quâm ſi repòſtus ſub trabe citreâ
Fulgeret auro, et Phidiacâ manu)
Salve vocanti ritè, feſſo et
Da placidam juveni quietem.
Quod ſi invidendis ſedibus, et frui
Fortuna ſacrâ lege ſilentii
Vetat volentem, me reſorbens
In medios violenta fluctus:
Saltem remoto des, Pater, angulo
Horas ſenectae ducere liberas;
Tutumque vulgari tumultu
Surripias, hominumque curis.

On the 1ſt of September 1741 he arrived in London; where he had not been much more than two months before his father was carried off by the gout, a malady from which he had long and ſeverely ſuffered. As the inactivity and ill health of the elder Mr. Gray had prevented him from accumulating the fortune he might have acquired with eaſe, ſo his imprudence had induced him to ſquander no inconſiderable part of what he poſſeſſed. The ſon therefore finding his patrimony inadequate to the profeſſion he had intended to follow without diminiſhing the income of his mother [ix] and his aunt, reſolved for this reaſon to relinquiſh it; yet to ſilence their importunities on the ſubject he propoſed only to change the line of it, and accordingly went to Cambridge in the year 1742 to take his Bachelor's degree. But the inconveniencies incident to a ſcanty fortune were not the only evils he had now to combat. Poor Weſt, the friend of his heart, was overborne by a conſumption and family diſtreſſes; and theſe, alas! were burthens which friendſhip could not remove. After languiſhing a conſiderable time under their united oppreſſion this amiable youth fell a victim to both on the 1ſt of June 1742 at Pope's, and was interred in the chancel of Hatfield church, beneath a ſtone bearing the epitaph below*.

From the time of Mr. Gray's return out of Italy to the date of this melancholy event he ſeems to have employed himſelf chiefly in writing, for in this interval he communicated to Mr. Weſt the fragment of his tragedy, and ſeveral other pieces. The ſhock however of ſo ſevere a ſtroke diſarranged his plans, and broke off his deſigns. The only addition he afterwards made to his didactick poem is the apoſtrophe to the friend he had loſt; and nothing can more pathetically [x] diſplay the feelings of a heart wounded by ſuch a loſs than that apoſtrophe and the ſonnet in which he gave them vent:

In vain to me the ſmiling mornings ſhine,
And redd'ning Phoebus lifts his golden fire,
The birds in vain their am'rous deſcant join,
Or cheerful fields reſume their green attire;
Theſe ears, alas! for other notes repine,
A diff'rent object do theſe eyes require;
My lonely anguiſh melts no heart but mine,
And in my breaſt th' imperfect joys expire:
[xi] Yet morning ſmiles the buſy race to cheer,
And newborn pleaſure brings to happier men,
The fields to all their wonted tribute bear,
To warm their little loves the birds complain;
I fruitleſs mourn to him that cannot hear,
And weep the more becauſe I weep in vain.

The Ode to Spring was written early in June at Stoke, whither he had gone to viſit his mother, and ſent to Mr. Weſt before Mr. Gray had heard of his death: how he employed his pen when this ode was returned to him with the melancholy news we have already ſeen. Impreſſions of grief on the generality of mankind, like characters marked on the ſand of the ſea, are ſpeedily effaced by the influx of buſineſs or pleaſure, but the traces of them on the heart of Gray were too deeply inſcribed to be ſoon obliterated; we ſhall not therefore wonder at the ſubjects he has choſen, nor at the ſolemnity with which he hath treated them. His Ode on the Proſpect of Eton College, as well as the Hymn to Adverſity, were both written in the following Auguſt, and it is highly probable that the Elegy in the Country Church yard was begun alſo about this time.

Having made a viſit of ſome length at Stoke to his mother and aunt our poet returned to Cambridge, which from this period became his principal home. The conveniencies reſulting from that ſituation, to a perſon of circumſcribed fortune and a ſtudious temper, were in his eſtimation more than a counterbalance for the diſlike which, on ſeveral accounts, he bore to [xii] the place. Leſs pleaſed with exerting his own powers than in contemplating the exertions of others, he almoſt wholly devoted himſelf to the beſt writers of Greece; and ſo aſſiduouſly did he apply to the ſtudy of their works as in the courſe of ſix years to have read with critical exactneſs almoſt every author of note in that language. During this interval however he was not ſo entirely occupied with his ſtated employment as to have no time for expreſſing his averſion to the ignorance and dulneſs which appeared to ſurround him; but of what he intended on this ſubject a ſhort fragment only remains.

In the year 1744 he appears to have given up entirely his didactick poem, and to have relinquiſhed, for ſometime at leaſt, any further ſolicitations of the Muſe. Mr. Walpole, notwithſtanding, being deſirous to preſerve what he had already written, and to perpetuate the merit of their deceaſed friend, importuned Mr. Gray to publiſh his own poems together with thoſe of Mr. Weſt; but this Mr. Gray declined, from the apprehenſion that the joint ſtock of both would hardly fill a ſmall volume A favourite cat belonging to Mr. Walpole happening about this time (1747) to be drowned, Mr. Gray amuſed himſelf with writing on the occaſion an elegant little ode, in which he hath happily united both humour and inſtruction. But the following year was diſtinguiſhed by a far more important effort of his Muſe; the Fragment on Education and Government, which is [xiii] ſuperiour to every thing in the ſame ſtyle of writing that our own language can boaſt of, and perhaps any other.

ESSAY I.

[...]
[...]
Theoc.
As ſickly plants betray a niggard earth,
Whoſe barren boſom ſtarves her gen'rous birth,
Nor genial warmth nor genial juice retains
Their roots to feed and fill their verdant veins,
And as in climes where Winter holds his reign
The ſoil tho' fertile will not teem in vain,
Forbids her gems to ſwell her ſhades to riſe,
Nor truſts her bloſſoms to the churliſh ſkies;
So draw mankind in vain the vital airs
Unform'd, unfriended, by thoſe kindly cares
That health and vigour to the ſoul impart,
Spread the young thought and warm the op'ning heart;
So fond Inſtruction on the growing pow'rs
Of Nature idly laviſhes her ſtores
If equal Juſtice with unclouded face
Smile not indulgent on the riſing race,
And ſcatter with a free tho' frugal hand
Light golden ſhow'rs of plenty o'er the land:
But Tyranny has fix'd her empire there
To check their tender hopes with chilling fear
And blaſt the blooming promiſe of the year.
This ſpacious animated ſcene ſurvey
From where the rolling orb that gives the day
His ſable ſons with nearer courſe ſurrounds
To either pole and life's remoteſt bounds:
How rude ſoe'er th' exterior form we find,
Howe'er opinion tinge the vary'd mind,
Alike to all the kind impartial Heav'n
The ſparks of truth and happineſs has giv'n;
[xiv] With ſenſe to feel, with mem'ry to retain,
They follow pleaſure and they fly from pain;
Their judgment mends the plan their fancy draws,
Th' event preſages and explores the cauſe;
The ſoft returns of gratitude they know,
By fraud clude, by force repel the foe;
While mutual wiſhes mutual woes endear,
The ſocial ſmile and ſympathetick tear.
Say, then, thro' ages by what fate confin'd
To diff'rent climes ſeem diff'rent ſouls aſſign'd?
Here meaſur'd Laws and philoſophick Eaſe
Fix and improve the poliſh'd arts of peace;
There Induſtry and Gain their vigils keep,
Command the winds and tame th' unwilling deep;
Here force and hardy deeds of blood prevail,
There languid Pleaſure ſighs in ev'ry gale.
Oft' o'er the trembling nations from afar
Has Scythia breath'd the living cloud of war,
And where the deluge burſt with ſweepy ſway
Their arms, their kings, their gods, were roll'd away:
As oft' have iſſu'd, hoſt impelling hoſt,
The blue-ey'd myriads from the Baltick coaſt;
The proſtrate South to the deſtroyer yields
Her boaſted titles and her golden fields:
With grim delight the brood of Winter view
A brighter day, and heav'ns of azure hue,
Scent the new fragrance of the breathing roſe,
And quaff the pendent vintage as it grows.
Proud of the yoke, and pliant to the rod,
Why yet does Aſia dread a monarch's nod,
While European freedom ſtill withſtands
Th' encroaching tide that drowns her leſs'ning lands,
And ſees far off with an indignant groan
Her native plains and empires once her own?
Can op'ner ſkies and ſuns of fiercer flame
O'erpow'r the fire that animates our frame,
As lamps that ſhed at eve a cheerful ray
Fade and expire beneath the eye of day?
Need we the influence of the northern ſtar
To ſtring our nerves and ſteel our hearts to war?
[xv] And where the face of Nature laughs around
Muſt ſick'ning Virtue fly the tainted ground?
Unmanly thought! what ſeaſons can controul,
What fancy'd zone can circumſcribe, the ſoul,
Who conſcious of the ſource from whence the ſprings
By Reaſon's light on Reſolution's wings,
Spite of her frail companion, dauntleſs goes
O'er Lybia's deſerts and thro' Zembla's ſnows?
She bids each ſlumb'ring energy awake,
Another touch another temper take,
Suſpends th' inferiour laws that rule our clay:
The ſtubborn elements confeſs her ſway;
Their little wants their low deſires refine,
And raiſe the mortal to a height divine.
Not but the human fabrick from the birth
Imbibes a flavour of its parent earth;
As various tracks enforce a various toil,
The manners ſpeak the idiom of their ſoil.
An iron race the mountain-cliffs maintain,
Foes to the gentler genius of the plain;
For where unweary'd ſinews muſt be found
With ſide-long plough to quell the flinty ground,
To turn the torrent's ſwift-deſcending flood,
To brave the ſavage ruſhing from the wood,
What wonder if to patient valour train'd
They guard with ſpirit what by ſtrength they gain'd?
And while their rocky ramparts round they ſee,
The rough abode of Want and Liberty,
(As lawleſs force from confidence will grow)
Inſult the plenty of the vales below?
What wonder in the ſultry climes that ſpread
Where Nile redundant o'er his ſummer-bed
From his broad boſom life and verdure flings,
And broods o'er Aegypt with his wat'ry wings,
If with advent'rous oar and ready ſail
The duſky people drive before the gale,
Or on frail floats to neighb'ring cities ride,
That riſe and glitter o'er the ambient tide?

[xvi] How much it is to be wiſhed that Gray, inſtead of compiling chronological tables, had completed what he thus admirably begun! In the year 1750 he put his laſt hand to the Elegy in the Country Churchyard, which when finiſhed was communicated firſt to Mr. Walpole, and by him to ſeveral perſons of diſtinction. I his brought Mr. Gray acquainted with Lady Cobham, and furniſhed an occaſion for his Long Story, a compoſition in which the different colours of wit and humour are peculiarly and not leſs intimately blended than the ſhifting hues on the faces of a diamond. The elegy having been for ſome time privately tranſmitted from onehand to another, at length found its way into publick through The Magazine of Magazines. This diſgraceful mode of appearance ſubjected the Author to the neceſſity of exhibiting it under a leſs diſadvantageous form; and Mr. Bentley ſoon after wiſhing to ſupply every ornament that his pencil could contribute, drew, not only for it but alſo for the reſt of Mr. Gray's productions, a ſet of deſigns, which were handſomely repaid by ſome very beautiful ſtanzas, of which unfortunately no perfect copy remains. In the March of 1753 Mr. Gray ſuſtained a loſs which he long ſeverely felt: his mother, to whom his conduct was exemplary for the diſcharge of every filial duty, and who merited all [xvii] the tenderneſs and attention ſhe received, was taken from him by death. The lines in which Mr. Pope hath expreſſed his piety, beautiful as they are, and much as they deſerve to be praiſed, appear notwithſtanding to excite leſs of ſympathy than a ſingle ſtroke in the epitaph on Mrs. Gray*, or a paſſage in a letter to Mr. Maſon, written the following December, on the deaths of his father and friend: ‘"I have ſeen the ſcene you deſcribe, and know how dreadful it is; I know too I am the better for it. We are all idle and thoughtleſs things, and have no ſenſe, no uſe in the world, any longer than that ſad impreſſion laſts: the deeper it is engraved the better."’

Mr. Gray, as is evident by a letter to Dr. Wharton, had finiſhed his Ode on the Progreſs of Poetry early in 1755; his Bard alſo was begun about this time, and in the year following the beautiful fragment on the Pleaſures of Viciſſitude. From the looſe hints in his commonplace-book he appears to have planned a fourth ode on the connexion between genius and grandeur, but it cannot now be aſcertained if any part of it was actually written. A vacancy in the office of Poet-Laureate was occaſioned in 1757 by the death of Colley Cibber. The Duke of Devonſhire, [xviii] being at that time Chamberlain, made a polite offer of it to Mr. Gray through the hands of Lord John Cavendiſh his brother; but the diſgrace brought upon that office by the profligacy and inability of ſome who had filled it probably induced Mr. Gray to decline the appointment. This part of our poet's life was chiefly devoted to literary purſuits and the cultivation of friendſhip. It is obvious from the teſtimony of his letters that he was indefatigable in the former, and that he was always ready to perform kind offices in the latter. Sir William Williams, an accompliſhed and gallant young officer, having been killed at Belliſle, his friend Mr. Fred. Montagu propoſed to erect a monument over him, and with this view requeſted Mr. Gray to furniſh the epitaph. His ſlight acquaintance with Sir William would have been a ſufficient reaſon for declining the taſk, but the friendlineſs of Mr. Montagu's diſpoſition, and the ſincerity of affliction with which he was affected, wrought ſo powerfully upon Mr. Gray that he could not refuſe him, though he was by no means able to ſatisfy himſelf with the verſes he wrote. The profeſſorſhip of modern languages and hiſtory in the Univerſity of Cambridge becoming vacant in 1762 through the death of Mr. Turner, Mr. Gray was ſpirited up by ſome of his friends to aſk of Lord Bute the ſucceſſion. His application however failed, the office having been promiſed to Lady Lowther for the tutor of Sir James, from a motive which reflected more honour on her [xix] Ladyſhip than on the gentleman who ſucceeded. In 1765 Mr. Gray, ever attached to the beauties of Nature as well as to the love of antiquities, undertook a journey to Scotland for the purpoſe of gratifying his curioſity and taſte. During his ſtay in this country Dr. Beattie (though not the firſt of philoſophers yet a poet inferiour to none ſince the death of his friend, and whom he in many reſpects reſembled) found the means of engaging his notice and friendſhip. Through the intervention of this gentleman the Mariſehal College of Aberdeen had requeſted to know if the degree of Doctor of Laws would be acceptable to Gray; but this mark of their attention he civilly declined. In December 1767 Dr. Beattie, ſtill deſirous that his country ſhould afford ſome teſtimony of its regard to the merit of our poet, ſolicited his permiſſion to print at the Univerſity preſs of Glaſgow an elegant edition of his Works. Dodſley had before aſked the like favour, and Mr. Gray, unwilling to refuſe, gratified both with a copy containing a few notes and the imitations of the old Norwegian poetry, intended to ſupplant the Long Story, which was printed at firſt only to illuſtrate Mr. Bentley's deſigns. The death of Mr. Brocket in the July following left another opening to the profeſſorſhip which he had before unſucceſsfully ſought. Lord Bute however was not in office, and the Duke of Grafton, to preclude a requeſt, within two days of the vacancy appointed Mr. Gray. Cambridge before [xx] had been his reſidence from choice, it now became ſo from obligation, and the greater part of his time there was filled up by his old engagements or diverted to new ones. It has been ſuggeſted that he once embraced the project of republiſhing Strabo, and there are reaſons to believe that he meant it, as the many geographical diſquiſitions he left behind him appear to have been too minute for the gratification of general inquiry. The like obſervation may be transferred to Plato and the Greek Anthologia, as he had taken uncommon pains with both, and has left a mſ. of the latter fit for the preſs. His deſign of favouring the publick with the hiſtory of Engliſh poetry may be ſpoken of with more certainty, as in this he had not only engaged with Mr. Maſon as a colleague, but actually paraphraſed the Norſe and Welſh poems inſerted in his Works for ſpecimens of the wild ſpirit which animated the bards of ancient days. The extenſive compaſs however of the ſubject, and the knowledge that it was alſo in the hands of Mr. Warton, induced him to relinquiſh what he had thus ſucceſsfully begun. Nor did his love for the antiquities of his country confine his reſearches to its poetry alone: the ſtructures of our anceſtors and their various improvements particularly engaged his attention. Hitherto there hath nothing ſo authentick and accurate on the ſubject of Gothick architecture appeared as the obſervations upon it drawn up by Mr. Gray, and inſerted by Mr. Bentham in his Hiſt. of Ely. Of heraldry, its correlative ſcience, [xxi] he poſſeſſed the entire knowledge. But of the various purſuits which employed his ſtudies for the laſt ten years of his life none were ſo acceptable as thoſe which explained the economy of Nature. For botany he acquired a taſte of his uncle when young; and the exerciſe which for the ſake of improvement in this branch of the ſcience he induced himſelf to take contributed not a little to the preſervation of his health. How conſiderable his improvements in it were thoſe only can tell who have ſeen his additions to Hudſon, and his notes on Linnaeus. While confined to zoology he ſucceſsfully applied his diſcoveries to illuſtrate Ariſtotle and others of the Ancients. From engagements of this kind Mr. Gray's attention was neither often nor long diverted. Excepting the time he gave up to experiments on flowers, for the purpoſe of inveſtigating the proceſs of vegetation, (which can ſcarcely be called a relaxation from his ſtated occupations) his only amuſement was muſick; nor was his acquaintance with this art leſs than with others of much more importance. His ſkill was acquired from the productions of the beſt compoſers, out of whoſe works when in Italy he had made a ſelection. Vocal muſick he chiefly preferred. The harpſichord was his favourite inſtrument, but though far from remarkable for a finiſhed execution, yet he accommodated his voice ſo judiciouſly to his playing as to give an auditor conſiderable pleaſure. His judgment in ſtatuary and painting was exquiſite, and formed from an almoſt [xxii] inſtinctive perception of thoſe graces beyond the reach of art in which the divine works of the great maſters abound. As it was through the unſolicited favour of the Duke of Grafton that Mr. Gray was enabled to follow the bent of his own inclination in the choice of his ſtudies, we ſhall not be ſurpriſed to find, from a letter to Dr. Beattie, that gratitude prompted him to offer his firſtling:

O Meliboee, Deus nobis haec otia fecit
Nanque erit ille mihi ſemper Deus: illius aram
Saepe tener noſtris ab ovilibus imbuet agnus.
Ille meas errare boves ut cernis, et ipſum
Ludere quae vellem, calamo permiſit agreſti.

Accordingly on his Grace's being elected Chancellor of the Univerſity Mr. Gray, unaſked, took upon him to write thoſe verſes which are uſually ſet to muſick on this occaſion; and whatever the ſarcaſtick Junius (notwithſtanding his handſome compliment to the poet) might pretend, this was the offering of no venal Muſe. The ode in its ſtructure is dramatick, and it contains nothing of the complimentary kind which is not entirely ſuited to the characters employed. Not long after the buſtle of the inſtallation was over Mr. Gray made an excurſion to the ſequeſtered lakes of Weſtmoreland and Cumberland. The impreſſions he there received from the wonderful ſcenery that every where ſurrounded him he tranſmitted to his friend Dr. Wharton in epiſtolary journals, with all the wildneſs of Salvator and the ſoftneſs of Claude. Writing in May 1771 to the ſame friend, he complains of a [xxiii] violent cough which had troubled him for three months, and which he called incurable, adding, that till this year he never knew what (mechancial) low ſpirits were. One circumſtance that without doubt contributed to the latter complaint was the anxiety he felt from holding as a ſinecure an office the duties of which he thought himſelf bound to perform. The object of his profeſſorſhip being twofold, and the patent allowing him to effect one of its deſigns by deputy, it is underſtood that he liberally rewarded for that purpoſe the teachers in the Univerſity of Italian and French. The other part he himſelf prepared to execute; but tho' the profeſſorſhip was inſtituted in 1724, none of his predeceſſors had furniſhed a plan. Embaraſſed by this and other difficulties, and retarded by ill health, the undertaking at length became ſo irkſome that he ſeriouſly propoſed to relinquiſh the chair. Towards the cloſe of May he removed from Cambridge to Town, after having ſuffered from flying attacks of an hereditary gout, to which he had long been ſubject, and from which a life of ſingular temperance could not protect him. In London his indiſpoſition having increaſed, the phyſician adviſed him to change his lodgings in Jermynſtreet for others at Kenſington. This change was of ſo much benefit that he was ſoon enabled to return to Cambridge, from whence he meditated a journey to his friend Dr. Wharton, which he hoped might reeſtabliſh his health; but his intentions and hopes were deluſive. [xxiv] On the 24th of July 1771 a violent ſickneſs came on him while at dinner in the College-hall; the gout had fixed on his ſtomach, and reſiſted all the powers of medicine. On the 29th he was ſeized by a ſtrong convulſion, which the next day returned with additional force, and the evening after he expired. At the firſt ſeizure he was aware of his danger, and tho' ſenſible at intervals almoſt to the laſt, he betrayed no dread of the terrours of death.

To delineate his portrait in this place would be needleſs. The reader will acquire the beſt idea of his character if after peruſing his life and his writings he will uſe his own memory a sa cylindrick mirror, and collect into one aſſemblage the ſcattered features. Of Mr Gray's religious opinions but little is known; there are however ſufficient traces left to ſhew him a believer. To Lord Bolingbroke's atheiſm he hath written an anſwer. His ſentiments of Lord Safteſbury cannot be miſtaken; and both Voltaire and Hume he cenſures with freedom. In private life he was moſt reſpected by thoſe who beſt knew him: his heart was benevolent and his hand liberal.

On his poems it will be needleſs to beſtow praiſes, or to repel the attacks of envy and rancour. If Mr. Gray was not a poet of the firſt order there is no poetry exiſting; and if his bold expreſſions be nonſenſe, ſo are the beſt paſſages of Shakeſpeare and Milton, and the ſublimeſt figures of divine inſpiration.

THE LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF MR. THOMAS GRAY.
Extracted from the regiſtry of the Prerogative Court of Canterbury.

[]

IN the name of God. Amen. I Thomas Gray of Pembroke-hall in the Univerſity of Cambridge, being of ſound mind and in good health of body, yet ignorant how long theſe bleſſings may be indulged me, do make this my Laſt Will and Teſtament in manner and form following. Firſt, I do deſire that my body may be depoſited in the vault made by my late dear mother in the churchyard of Stoke-Pogeis, near Slough in Buckinghamſhire, by her remains, in a coffin of ſeaſoned oak, neither lined nor covered, and (unleſs it be very inconvenient) I could wiſh that one of my executers may ſee me laid in the grave, and diſtribute among ſuch honeſt and induſtrious poor perſons in the ſaid pariſh as he thinks fit the ſum of ten pounds in charity. Next, I give to George Williamſon Eſq. my ſecond couſin by the father's ſide, now of Calcutta in Bengal, the ſum of five hundred pounds reduced Bank annuities, now ſtanding in my name. I give to Anna Lady Goring, alſo my ſecond couſin by the father's ſide, of the county of Suſſex, five hundred pounds reduced Bank annuities, and a pair of large blue and white old Japan china jars. Item, I give to Mary Antrobus of Cambridge ſpinſter, my ſecond couſin by the mother's ſide, all that my freehold eſtate and houſe in the pariſh of St. Michael, Cornhill London, now [xxvi] let at the yearly rent of ſixty-five pounds, and in the occupation of Mr. Nortgeth perfumer, provided that ſhe pay out of the ſaid rent, by half-yearly payments, Mrs. Jane Olliffe, my aunt, of Cambridge, widow, the ſum of twenty pounds per annum during her natural life; and after the deceaſe of the ſaid Jane Olliffe I give the ſaid eſtate to the ſaid Mary Antrobus, to have and to hold to her her heirs and aſſigns for ever. Further, I bequeath to the ſaid Mary Antrobus the ſum of ſix hundred pounds new South-ſea annuities, now ſtanding in the joint names of Jane Olliffe and Thomas Gray, but charged with the payment of five pounds per annum to Graves Stokeley of Stoke-Pogeis in the county of Bucks, which ſum of ſix hundred pounds, after the deceaſe of the ſaid annuitant, does (by the will of Anna Rogers my late aunt) belong ſolely and entirely to me, together with all overplus of intereſt in the mean-time accruing. Further, if at the time of my deceaſe there ſhall be any arrear of ſalary due to me from his Majeſty's Treaſury, I give all ſuch arrears to the ſaid Mary Antrobus. Item, I give to Mrs. Dorothy Comyns of Cambridge, my other ſecond couſin by the mother's ſide, the ſums of ſix hundred pounds old South-ſea annuities, of three hundred pounds four per cent. Bank annuities conſolidated, and of two hundred pounds three per cent. Bank annuities conſolidated, all now ſtanding in my name. I give to Richard Stonehewer Eſq. one of his Majeſty's Commiſſioner's of Exciſe, the ſum of five [xxvii] hundred pounds reduced Bank annuities, and I beg his acceptance of one of my diamond rings. I give to Dr. Thomas Wharton, of Old Park in the Biſhoprick of Durham, five hundred pounds reduced Bank annuities, and deſire him alſo to accept of one of my diamond rings. I give to my ſervant, Stephen Hempſtead, the ſum of fifty pounds reduced Bank annuities, and if he continues in my ſervice to the time of my death I alſo give him all my wearing apparel and linen. I give to my two couſins above-mentioned, Mary Antrobus and Dorothy Comyns, all my plate, watches, rings, china ware, bed linen and table linen, and the furniture of my chambers at Cambridge not otherwiſe bequeathed, to be equally and amicably ſhared between them. I give to the Reverend William Maſon, Precentor of York, all my books, manuſcripts, coins, muſick printed or written, and papers of all kinds, to preſerve or deſtroy at his own diſcretion. And after my juſt debts and the expenſes of my funeral are diſcharged, all the reſidue of my perſonal eſtate whatſoever I do hereby give and bequeath to the ſaid Reverend William Maſon, and to the Reverend Mr. James Browne, Preſident of Pembroke-hall Cambridge, to be equally divided between them, deſiring them to apply the ſum of two hundred pounds to an uſe of charity concerning which I have already informed them. And I do hereby conſtitute and appoint them, the ſaid William Maſon and James Browne, to be joint executers of this my Laſt Will and Teſtament. [xxviii] And if any relation of mine, or other legatee, ſhall go about to moleſt or commence any ſuit againſt my ſaid executers in the execution of their office, I do, as far as the law will permit me, hereby revoke and make void all ſuch bequeſts or legacies as I had given to that perſon or perſons, and give it to be divided between my ſaid executers and reſiduary legatees, whoſe integrity and kindneſs I have ſo long experienced, and who can beſt judge of my true intention and meaning. In witneſs whereof I have hereunto ſet my hand and ſeal this 2d day of July 1770.

THOMAS GRAY.
Signed, ſealed, publiſhed, and declared, by the ſaid Thomas Gray, the teſtator, as and for his Laſt Will and Teſtament, in the preſence of us, who in his preſence, and at his requeſt, and in the preſence of each other, have ſigned our names as witneſſes hereto.
  • RICHARD BAKER.
  • THOMAS WILSON.
  • JOSEPH TURNER.
Proved at London the 12th of Auguſt 1771, before the Worſhipful Andrew Coltre Ducarel Doctor of Laws and Surrogate, by the oaths of the Reverend William Maſon, Clerk, Maſter of Arts, and the Reverend James Browne, Clerk, Maſter of Arts, the executers, to whom adminiſtration was granted, having been firſt ſworn duly to adminiſter.
  • Deputy Regiſters.
    • JOHN STEVENS.
    • HENRY STEVENS.
    • GEO. GOSTLING, jun.

THE TEARS OF GENIUS,
AN ODE, TO THE MEMORY OF MR. GRAY.

[]
ON Cham's fair banks, where Learning's hallow'd fane
Majeſtick riſes on th' aſtoniſh'd ſight,
Where oft' the Muſe has led the fav'rite ſwain,
And warm'd his ſoul with heav'n's inſpiring light,
Beneath the covert of the ſylvan ſhade,
Where deadly cypreſs, mix'd with mournful yew,
Far o'er the vale a gloomy ſtillneſs ſpread,
Celeſtial Genius burſt upon the view.
The bloom of youth, the majeſty of years,
The ſoften'd aſpect, innocent and kind,
The ſigh of ſorrow and the ſtreaming tears,
Reſiſtleſs all, their various pow'r combin'd.
In her fair hand a ſilver harp ſhe bore,
Whoſe magick notes, ſoft warbling from the ſtring,
Give tranquil joys the breaſt ne'er knew before,
Or raiſe the ſoul on rapture's airy wing.
By grief impell'd I heard her heave a ſigh,
While thus the rapid ſtrain reſounded thro' the ſky:
[xxx]
Haſte, ye ſiſter pow'rs of Song!
Haſten from the ſhady grove,
Where the river rolls along
Sweetly to the voice of love;
Where indulging mirthful pleaſures
Light you preſs the flow'ry green,
And from Flora's blooming treaſures
Cull the wreath for Fancy's queen;
Where your gently-flowing numbers,
Floating on the fragrant breeze,
Sink the ſoul in pleaſing ſlumbers
On the downy bed of eaſe.
For graver ſtrains prepare the plaintive lyre,
That wakes the ſofteſt feelings of the ſoul;
Let lonely grief the melting verſe inſpire,
Let deep'ning ſorrow's ſolemn accents roll.
Rack'd by the hand of rude Diſeaſe
Behold our fav'rite poet lies!
While ev'ry object form'd to pleaſe
Far from his couch ungrateful flies.
The bliſsful Muſe, whoſe fav'ring ſmile
So lately warm'd his peaceful breaſt,
Diffuſing heav'nly joys the while,
In Tranſport's radiant garments dreſt,
[xxxi] With darkſome grandeur and enfeebled blaze
Sinks in the ſhades of night and ſhuns his eager gaze.
The gaudy train who wait on Spring*,
Ting'd with the pomp of vernal pride,
The youth who mount on pleaſure's wing,
And idly ſport on Thames' ſide,
With cool regard their various arts employ,
Nor rouſe the drooping mind nor give the pauſe of joy.
Ha! what forms, with port ſublime,
Glide along in ſullen mood,
Scorning all the threats of time,
High above misfortune's flood?
They ſeize their harps, they ſtrike the lyre,
With rapid hand, with freedom's fire;
Obedient Nature hears the lofty ſound,
And Snowdon's airy cliffs the heav'nly ſtrains reſound.
In pomp of ſtate behold they wait,
With arms outſtretch'd and aſpects kind,
To ſnatch on high to yonder ſky
The child of Fancy left behind;
Forgot the woes of Cambria's fatal day,
By rapture's blaze impell'd they ſwell the artleſs lay.
[xxxii]
But ah! in vain they ſtrive to ſooth
With gentle arts the tort'ring hours,
Adverſity* with rankling tooth
Her baleful gifts profuſely pours.
Behold ſhe comes! the fiend forlorn,
Array'd in Horrour's ſettled gloom,
She ſtrews the brier and prickly thorn,
And triumphs in th' infernal doom;
With frantick fury and inſatiate rage
She gnaws the throbbing breaſt and blaſts the glowing page.
No more the ſoft Eolian flute
Breathes thro' the heart the melting ſtrain,
The pow'rs of Harmony are mute,
And leave the once-delightful plain;
With heavy wing I ſee them beat the air,
Damp'd by the leaden hand of comfortleſs Deſpair.
Yet ſtay, O ſtay! celeſtial Pow'rs!
And with a hand of kind regard
Diſpel the boiſt'rous ſtorm that lours
Deſtructive on the fav'rite bard;
O watch with me his laſt expiring breath,
And ſnatch him from the arms of dark oblivious Death!
[xxxiii]
Hark! the Fatal Siſters join,
And with horrour's mutt'ring ſounds
Weave the tiſſue of his line
While the dreadful ſpell reſounds.
" Hail, ye midnight Siſters! hail!
" Drive the ſhuttle ſwift along,
" Let our ſecret charms prevail,
" O'er the valiant and the ſtrong;
" O'er the glory of the land,
" O'er the innocent and gay,
" O'er the Muſes' tuneful band,
" Weave the fun'ral web of Gray."
'Tis done, 'tis done—the iron hand of Pain
With ruthleſs fury and corroſive force
Racks ev'ry joint and ſeizes ev'ry vein:
He ſinks, he groans, he falls, a lifeleſs corſe!
Thus fades the flow'r, nipp'd by the frozen gale,
Tho' once ſo ſweet, ſo lovely, to the eye,
Thus the tall oaks, when boiſt'rous ſtorms aſſail,
Torn from the earth a mighty ruin lie.
[xxxiv]
Ye ſacred Siſters of the plaintive verſe
Now let the ſtream of fond affection flow;
O pay your tribute o'er the ſlow-drawn hearſe
With all the manly dignity of wo!
Oft' when the curfew tolls its parting knell
With ſolemn pauſe yon' Churchyard's gloom ſurvey,
While ſorrow's ſighs and tears of pity tell
How juſt the moral of the poet's lay*.
O'er his green grave, in Contemplation's guiſe,
Oft' let the pilgrim drop a ſilent tear,
Oft' let the ſhepherd's tender accents riſe,
Big with the ſweets of each revolving year,
Till proſtrate Time adore his deathleſs name,
Fix'd on the ſolid baſe of adamantine fame.

ODES.

[]

ODE I.
ON THE SPRING.

Lo! where the roſy-boſom'd Hours,
Fair Venus' train, appear,
Diſcloſe the long-expecting flow'rs,
And wake the purple year,
The Attick warbler pours her throat
Reſponſive to the cuckoo's note,
The untaught harmony of ſpring,
While whiſp'ring pleaſure as they fly
Cool zephirs thro' the clear blue ſky
Their gather'd fragrance fling.
Where'er the oak's thick branches ſtretch
A broader browner ſhade,
Where'er the rude and moſs-grown beech
O'er-canopies the glade*,
Beſide ſome water's ruſhy brink
With me the Muſe ſhall ſit, and think
(At eaſe reclin'd in ruſtick ſtate)
How vain the ardour of the crowd,
How low, how little, are the proud,
How indigent the great!
[36]
Still is the toiling hand of Care,
The panting herds repoſe,
Yet hark! how thro' the peopled air
The buſy murmur glows!
The inſect youth are on the wing,
Eager to taſte the honey'd ſpring,
And float amid the liquid noon*;
Some lightly o'er the current ſkim,
Some ſhew their gayly-gilded trim,
Quick-glancing to the ſun.
To Contemplation's ſober eye,
Such is the race of man,
And they that creep and they that fly
Shall end where they began.
Alike the buſy and the gay
But flutter thro' life's little day,
In Fortune's varying colours dreſt;
Bruſh'd by the hand of rough Miſchance,
Or chill'd by Age, their airy dance
They leave, in duſt to reſt.
[37]
Methinks I hear in accents low
The ſportive kind reply,
Poor Moraliſt! and what art thou?
A ſolitary fly!
Thy joys no glitt'ring female meets,
No hive haſt thou of hoarded ſweets,
No painted plumage to diſplay;
On haſty wings thy youth is flown,
Thy ſun is ſet, thy ſpring is gone—
We frolick while 't is May.

ODE II.
ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE CAT,
Drowned in a tub of gold fiſhes.

'TWAS on a loſty vaſe's ſide,
Where China's gayeſt art had dy'd
The azure flow'rs that blow,
Demureſt of the tabby kind,
The penſive Selima, reclin'd,
Gaz'd on the lake below.
Her conſcious tail her joy declar'd;
The fair round face, the ſnowy beard,
The velvet of her paws,
Her coat that with the tortoiſe vies,
Her ears of jet and em'rald eyes,
She ſaw, and purr'd applauſe.
[38]
Still had ſhe gaz'd, but 'midſt the tide
Two angel forms were ſeen to glide,
The Genii of the ſtream;
Their ſcaly armour's Tyrian hue
Thro' richeſt purple to the view
Betray'd a golden gleam.
The hapleſs nymph with wonder ſaw:
A whiſker firſt and then a claw,
With many an ardent wiſh,
She ſtretch'd in vain to reach the prize:
What female heart can gold deſpiſe?
What Cat's averſe to fiſh?
Preſumpt'ous maid! with looks intent
Again ſhe ſtretch'd, again ſhe bent,
Nor knew the gulf between:
(Malignant Fate ſat by and ſmil'd)
The ſlipp'ry verge her feet beguil'd;
She tumbled headlong in.
Eight times emerging from the flood
She mew'd to ev'ry wat'ry god
Some ſpeedy aid to ſend.
No Dolphin came, no Nereid ſtirr'd,
Nor cruel Tom nor Suſan heard:
A fav'rite has no friend!
[39]
From hence, ye Beauties! undeceiv'd,
Know one falſe ſtep is ne'er retriev'd,
And be with caution bold:
Not all that tempts your wand'ring eyes
And heedleſs hearts is lawful prize,
Nor all that gliſters gold.

ODE III.
ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE.

[...] MENANDER.
YE diſtant Spires! ye antique Tow'rs!
That crown the wat'ry glade
Where grateful Science ſtill adores
Her Henry's* holy ſhade,
And ye that from the ſtately brow
Of Windſor's heights th' expanſe below
Of grove, of lawn, of mead, ſurvey,
Whoſe turf, whoſe ſhade, whoſe flow'rs, among
Wanders the hoary Thames along
His ſilver-winding way:
Ah happy hills! ah pleaſing ſhade!
Ah fields belov'd in vain!
Where once my careleſs childhood ſtray'd,
A ſtranger yet to pain!
[40] I feel the gales that from ye blow
A momentary bliſs beſtow,
As waving freſh their gladſome wing
My weary ſoul they ſeem to ſooth,
And, redolent* of joy and youth,
To breathe a ſecond ſpring.
Say, father Thames! for thou haſt ſeen
Full many a ſprightly race
Diſporting on thy margent green
The paths of pleaſure trace,
Who foremoſt now delight to cleave
With pliant arm thy glaſſy wave?
The captive linnet which enthral?
What idle progeny ſucceed
To chaſe the rolling circle's ſpeed
Or urge the flying ball?
While ſome on earneſt bus'neſs bent
Their murm'ring labours ply,
'Gainſt graver hours that bring conſtraint
To ſweeten liberty,
Some bold adventurers diſdain
The limits of their little reign,
[41] And unknown regions dare deſcry:
Still as they run they look behind,
They hear a voice in ev'ry wind,
And ſnatch a fearful joy.
Gay hope is theirs, by fancy fed,
Leſs pleaſing when poſſeſt;
The tear forgot as ſoon as ſhed,
The ſunſhine of the breaſt;
Theirs buxom health of roſy hue,
Wild wit, invention ever-new,
And lively cheer of vigour born,
The thoughtleſs day, the eaſy night,
The ſpirits pure, the ſlumbers light
That fly th' approach of morn.
Alas! regardleſs of their doom,
The little victims play!
No ſenſe have they of ills to come,
Nor care beyond to-day:
Yet ſee how all around 'em wait
The miniſters of human fate,
And black Misfortune's baleful train!
Ah! ſhew them where in ambuſh ſtand
To ſeize their prey the murd'rous band!
Ah! tell them they are men.
[42]
Theſe ſhall the fury Paſſions tear,
The vultures of the mind,
Diſdainful Anger, pallid Fear,
And Shame that ſkulks behind;
Or pining Love ſhall waſte their youth,
Or Jealouſy with rankling tooth
That inly gnaws the ſecret heart,
And Envy wan, and faded Care,
Grim-viſag'd comfortleſs Deſpair,
And Sorrow's piercing dart.
Ambition this ſhall tempt to riſe,
Then whirl the wretch from high,
To bitter Scorn a ſacrifice
And grinning Infamy:
The ſtings of Falſehood thoſe ſhall try,
And hard Unkindneſs' alter'd eye,
That mocks the tear it forc'd to flow,
And keen Remorſe with blood defil'd,
And moody Madneſs* laughing wild
Amid ſevereſt wo.
Lo! in the vale of years beneath
A griſly troop are ſeen,
The painful family of Death,
More hideous than their queen:
[43] This racks the joints, this fires the veins,
That ev'ry lab'ring ſinew ſtrains,
Thoſe in the deeper vitals rage;
Lo! Poverty, to fill the band,
That numbs the ſoul with icy hand,
And ſlow-conſuming Age.
To each his ſuff'rings; all are men
Condemn'd alike to groan,
The tender for another's pain,
Th' unfeeling for his own.
Yet ah! why ſhould they know their fate,
Since ſorrow never comes too late,
And happineſs too ſwifty flies?
Thought would deſtroy their paradiſe.
No more; where ignorance is bliſs
'Tis folly to be wiſe.

ODE IV.
TO ADVERSITY.

[...]
[...]
[...]
[...]
AESCHYLUS, in Agamemnone.
DAUGHTER of Jove, relentleſs pow'r,
Thou tamer of the human breaſt,
Whoſe iron ſcourge and tort'ring hour
The bad affright, afflict the beſt!
[44] Bound in thy adamantine chain
The proud are taught to taſte of pain,
And purple tyrants vainly groan
With pangs unfelt before, unpity'd and alone.
When firſt thy ſire to ſend on earth
Virtue, his darling child, deſign'd,
To thee he gave the heav'nly birth,
And bad to form her infant mind;
Stern rugged nurſe! thy rigid lore
With patience many a year ſhe bore;
What ſorrow was thou badſt her know,
And from her own ſhe learn'd to melt at others' wo.
Scar'd at thy frown terrifick fly
Self-pleaſing Folly's idle brood,
Wild Laughter, Noiſe, and thoughtleſs Joy,
And leave us leiſure to be good.
Light they diſperſe, and with them go
The ſummer friend, the flatt'ring foe;
By vain Proſperity receiv'd,
To her they vow their truth, and are again believ'd.
Wiſdom, in ſable garb array'd,
Immers'd in rapt'rous thought profound,
And Melancholy, ſilent maid,
With leaden eye that loves the ground,
[45] Still on thy ſolemn ſteps attend,
Warm Charity, the gen'ral friend,
With Juſtice, to herſelf ſevere,
And Pity, dropping ſoft the ſadly-pleaſing tear.
Oh! gently on thy ſuppliant's head,
Dread goddeſs! lay thy chaſt'ning hand,
Not in thy Gorgon terrours clad,
Nor circled with the vengeful band
(As by the impious thou art ſeen)
With thund'ring voice and threat'ning mien,
With ſcreaming Horrour's fun'ral cry,
Deſpair, and fell Diſeaſe, and ghaſtly Poverty.
Thy form beign, O Goddeſs! wear,
Thy milder influence impart,
Thy philoſophick train be there,
To ſoften not to wound my heart:
The gen'rous ſpark extinct revive,
Teach me to love and to forgive;
Exact my own defects to ſcan,
What others are to feel, and know myſelf a man.

ODE V.
THE PROGRESS OF POESY. PINDARICK.

[46]

Advertiſement.

WHEN the Author firſt publiſhed this and the following ode he was adviſed, even by his friends, to ſubjoin ſome few explanatory notes, but had too much reſpect for the underſtanding of his readers to take that liberty.

[...]
[...]
[...]
PINDAR, Olymp. ii.
I. 1.
AWAKE, Aeolian lyre! awake*,
And give to rapture all thy trembling ſtrings.
From Helicon's harmonious ſprings
A thouſand rills their mazy progreſs take,
[47] The laughing flow'rs that round them blow
Drink life and fragrance as they flow.
Now the rich ſtream of muſick winds along
Deep, majeſtick, ſmooth, and ſtrong,
Thro' verdant vales and Ceres' golden reign;
Now rowling down the ſteep amain
Headlong, impetuous, ſee it pour;
The rocks and nodding groves rebellow to the roar.
I. 2.
Oh! Sov'reign* of the willing ſoul,
Parent of ſweet and ſolemn-breathing airs,
Enchanting ſhell! the ſullen Cares
And frantick Paſſions hear thy ſoft controul.
On Thracia's hills the lord of War
Has curb'd the fury of his car,
And dropp'd his thirſty lance at thy command:
Perching on the ſceptred hand
Of Jove, thy magick lulls the feather'd king
With ruffled plumes and flagging wing;
Quench'd in dark clouds of ſlumber lie
The terrour of his beak and lightnings of his eye.
[48]I. 3.
Thee* the voice the dance obey,
Temper'd to thy warbled lay:
O'er Idalia's velvet green
The roſy-crowned Loves are ſeen
On Cytherea's day
With antick Sports and blueey'd Pleaſures
Friſking light in frolick meaſures:
Now purſuing, now retreating,
Now in circling troops they meet;
To briſk notes in cadence beating
Glance their many-twinkling feet.
Slow-melting ſtrains their queen's approach declare;
Where'er ſhe turns the Graces homage pay:
With arms ſublime, that float upon the air,
In gliding ſtate ſhe wins her eaſy way:
O'er her warm cheek and riſing boſom move
The bloom of young deſire and purple light of love.
II. 1.
Man's feeble race what ills await!
Labour and Penury, the racks of Pain,
Diſeaſe, and Sorrow's weeping train,
And Death, ſad refuge from the ſtorms of Fate!
[49] The fond complaint, my Song! diſprove,
And juſtify the laws of Jove.
Say, has he giv'n in vain the heav'nly Muſe?
Night and all her ſickly dews,
Her ſpectres wan and birds of boding cry,
He gives to range the dreary ſky,
Till down the eaſtern cliffs afar*
Hyperion's march they ſpy and glitt'ring ſhafts of war.
II. 2.
In climes beyond the Solar Road,
Where ſhaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam,
The Muſe has broke the twilight-gloom
To cheer the ſhiv'ring native's dull abode:
And oft' beneath the od'rous ſhade
Of Chili's boundleſs foreſts laid
She deigns to hear the ſavage youth repeat,
In looſe numbers wildly ſweet,
Their feather-cinctur'd chiefs and duſky loves.
Her track where'er the goddeſs roves
[50] Glory purſue, and gen'rous ſhame,
Th' unconquerable mind and freedom's holy flame.
II. 3.
Woods that wave o'er Delphi's ſteep*,
Iſles that crown th' Aegean deep,
Fields that cool Iliſſus laves,
Or where Maeander's amber waves
In ling'ring lab'rinths creep,
How do your tuneful echoes languiſh,
Mute but to the voice of Anguiſh?
Where each old poetick mountain
Inſpiration breath'd around,
Ev'ry ſhade and hallow'd fountain
Murmur'd deep a ſolemn ſound,
Till the ſad Nine, in Greece's evil hour,
Left their Parnaſſus for the Latian plains:
Alike they ſcorn the pomp of tyrant Pow'r
And coward Vice that revels in her chains.
When Latium had her lofty ſpirit loſt
They ſought, oh Albion! next thy ſea-encircled coaſt.
[51]
III. 1.
Far from the ſun and ſummer-gale,
In thy green lap was Nature's darling* laid,
What time, where lucid Avon ſtray'd,
To him the Mighty Mother did unveil
Her awful face: the dauntleſs child
Stretch'd forth his little arms and ſmil'd.
This pencil take (ſhe ſaid) whoſe colours clear
Richly paint the vernal year;
Thine too theſe golden keys, immortal boy!
This can unlock the gates of Joy,
Of Horrour that, and thrilling Fears,
Or ope the ſacred ſource of ſympathetick Tears.
III. 2.
Nor ſecond he that rode ſublime
Upon the ſeraph-wings of Ecſtaſy,
The ſecrets of th' abyſs to ſpy,
He paſs'd the flaming bounds of place and time:
The living throne, the ſapphire blaze,
Where angels tremble while they gaze,
[52] He ſaw, but blaſted with exceſs of light
Clos'd his eyes in endleſs night*.
Behold where Dryden's leſs preſumptuous car
Wide o'er the fields of glory bear
Two courſers of ethereal race,
With necks in thunder cloth'd and long-reſounding pace.
III. 3.
Hark! his hands the lyre explore!
Bright-ey'd Fancy hov'ring o'er
Scatters from her pictur'd urn
Thoughts that breathe and words that burn;
But ah! 'tis heard no more{inverted †}
Oh, lyre divine! what daring ſpirit
Wakes thee now? tho' he inherit
Nor the pride nor ample pinion
That the Theban eagle bear{horizontal ‡},
Sailing with ſupreme dominion
Thro' the azure deep of air,
[53] Yet oft' before his infant eyes would run
Such forms as glitter in the Muſe's ray,
With orient hues unborrow'd of the ſun,
Yet ſhall he mount, and keep his diſtant way
Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate,
Beneath the good how far—but far above the great.

ODE VI.
THE BARD. PINDARICK.

[54]

Advertiſement.

THE following ode is founded on a tradition current in Wales that Edward I. when he completed the conqueſt of that country, ordered all the Bards that fell into hiſ hands to be put to death.

I. 1.
' RUIN ſeize thee, ruthleſs King!
' Confuſion on thy banners wait,
' Tho' fann'd by Conqueſt's crimſon wing
' They mock the air with idle ſtate*.
' Helm nor hauberk's twiſted mail,
' Nor even thy virtues, tyrant! ſhall avail
' To ſave thy ſecret ſoul from nightly fears,
' From Cambria's curſe, from Cambria's tears!'
Such were the ſounds that o'er the creſted pride
Of the firſt Edward ſcatter'd wild diſmay,
As down the ſteep of Snowdon's ſhaggy ſide
He wound with toilſome march his long array:
[55] Stout Glo'ſter* ſtood aghaſt in ſpeechleſs trance,
To arms! cry'd Mortimer,, and couch'd his quiv'ring lance.
I. 2.
On a rock, whoſe haughty brow
Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood,
Rob'd in the ſable garb of Wo,
With haggard eyes the poet ſtood;
(Looſe his beard and hoary hair
Stream'd like a meteor to the troubled air)
And with a maſter's hand and prophet's fire
Struck the deep ſorrows of his lyre.
' Hark how each giant oak and deſert cave
' Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath!
' O'er thee, oh King! their hundred arms they wave,
' Revenge on thee in hoarſer murmurs breathe,
[56] ' Vocal no more, ſince Cambria's fatal day,
' To highborn Hoel's harp or ſoft Llewellyn's lay.
I. 3.
' Cold is Cadwallo's tongue,
' That huſh'd the ſtormy main;
' Brave Urien ſleeps upon his craggy bed:
' Mountains! ye mourn in vain
' Modred, whoſe magick ſong
' Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topp'd head.
' On dreary Arvon's * ſhore they lie,
' Smear'd with gore and ghaſtly pale;
' Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens ſail,
' The famiſh'd eagle ſcreams and paſſes by.
' Dear loſt companions of my tuneful art,
' Dear as the light that viſits theſe ſad eyes,
' Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart,
' Ye dy'd amidſt your dying country's cries—
[57] ' No more I weep. They do not ſleep:
' On yonder cliffs, a griſly band,
' I ſee them ſit; they linger yet,
' Avengers of their native land;
' With me in dreadful harmony they join,
' And weave* with bloody hands the tiſſue of thy line.'
II. 1.
" Weave the warp and weave the woof,
" The windingſheet of Edward's race;
" Give ample room and verge enough
" The characters of hell to trace.
" Mark the year and mark the night
" When Severn ſhall reecho with affright
" The ſhrieks of death thro' Berkley's roofs that ring,
" Shrieks of an agonizing king!
" She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs
" That tear'ſt the bowels of thy mangled mate,
" From thee be born who o'er thy country hangs
" The ſcourge of Heav'n. What Terrours round him wait!
" Amazement in his van, with Flight combin'd,
" And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind.
[58]II. 2.
" Mighty victor, mighty lord,
" Low on his fun'ral couch he lies*!
" No pitying heart, no eye, afford
" A tear to grace his obſequies!
" Is the ſable warriour fled?
" Thy ſon is gone; he reſts among the dead.
" The ſwarm that in thy noontide beam were born?
" Gone to ſalute the riſing morn:
" Fair laughs the morn, and ſoft the zephir blows,
" While proudly riding o'er the azure realm
" In gallant trim the gilded veſſel goes,
" Youth on the prow and Pleaſure at the helm,
" Regardleſs of the ſweeping whirlwind's ſway,
" That huſh'd in grim repoſe expects his ev'ning prey.
II. 3.
" Fill high the ſparkling bowl,
" The rich repaſt prepare;
" Reſt of a crown he yet may ſhare the feaſt.
" Cloſe by the regal chair
" Fell Thirſt and Famine ſcowl
" A baleful ſmile upon their baffled gueſt.
[59] " Heard ye the din of battle bray*,
" Lance to lance and horſe to horſe?
" Long years of havock urge their deſtin'd courſe,
" And thro' the kindred ſquadrons mow their way.
" Ye Tow'rs of Julius! London's laſting ſhame,
" With many a foul and midnight murder fed,
" Revere his conſort's faith, his father's fame,
" And ſpare the meek uſurper's{inverted †} holy head.
" Above, below, the Roſe of ſnow**,
" Twin'd with her bluſhing foe, we ſpread;
" The briſtled Boar{horizontal ‡} in infant-gore
" Wallows beneath the thorny ſhade.
" Now Brother's! bending o'er th' accurſed loom
" Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom.
[60]
III. 1.
" Edward, lo! to ſudden fate
" (Weave we the woof; the thread is ſpun;)
" Half of thy heart* we conſecrate;
" (The web is wove; the work is done.")
' Stay, oh ſtay! nor thus forlorn
' Leave me unbleſs'd, unpity'd, here to mourn.
' In yon' bright track that fires the weſtern ſkies
' They melt they vaniſh from my eyes.
' But oh! what ſolemn ſcenes on Snowdon's height
' Deſcending ſlow their glitt'ring ſkirts unroll?
' Viſions of glory! ſpare my aching ſight,
' Ye unborn ages crowd not on my ſoul!
' No more our long-loſt Arthur we bewail:
' All-hail, ye genuine Kings, Britannia's iſſue, hail!
III. 2.
' Girt with many a baron bold
' Sublime their ſtarry fronts they rear,
' And gorgeous dames and ſtateſmen old
' In bearded majeſty appear;
[61] ' In the midſt a form divine,
' Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line,
' Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face*,
' Attemper'd ſweet to virgin-grace.
' What ſtrings ſymphonious tremble in the air!
' What ſtrains of vocal tranſport round her play!
' Hear from the grave, great Talieſſin! hear;
' They breathe a ſoul to animate thy clay.
' Bright Rapture calls, and ſoaring as ſhe ſings
' Waves in the eye of heav'n her many-colour'd wings.
III. 3.
' The verſe adorn again
' Fierce War, and faithful Love,
' And Truth ſevere, by Fairy Fiction dreſt.
' In buſkin'd meaſures move
' Pale Grief, and pleaſing Pain,
' With Horrour, tyrant of the throbbing breaſt.
[62] ' A voice as of the cherub-choir
' Gales from blooming Eden bear,
' And diſtant warblings leſſen on my ear,
' That loſt in long futurity expire.
' Fond impious man! think'ſt thou yon' ſanguine cloud,
' Rais'd by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of day?
' To-morrow he repairs the golden flood,
' And warms the nations with redoubled ray.
' Enough for me: with joy I ſee
' The diff'rent doom our Fates aſſign:
' Be thine deſpair and ſceptred care,
' To triumph and to die are mine.'
He ſpoke, and headlong from the mountain's height
Deep in the roaring tide he plung'd to endleſs night.

ODE VII.
THE FATAL SISTERS. FROM THE NORSE TONGUE.
To be found in the Orcades of Thermodus Torfaeus; Hafniae, 1697, folio; and alſo in Bartholinus.

[65]

ADVERTISEMENT.

[]

THE Author once had thoughts (in concert with a friend) of giving a hiſtory of Engliſh poetry: in the introduction to it be meant to have produced ſome ſpecimens of the ſtyle that reigned in ancient times among the neighbouring nations, or thoſe who had ſubdued the greater part of this iſland, and were our progenitors: the following three imitations made a part of them. He afterwards dropped his deſign; eſpecially after he had heard that it was already in the hands of a perſon well qualified to do it juſtice both by his taſte and his reſearches into antiquity.

PREFACE.

[]

IN the 11th century Sigurd, Earl of the Orkney-Iſlands, went with a fleet of ſhips and a conſiderable body of troops into Ireland to the aſſiſtance of Sigtryg with the ſilken beard, who was then making war on his father-in-law, Brian King of Dublin. The earl and all his forces were cut to pieces, and Sigtryg was in danger of a total defeat, but the enemy had a greater loſs by the death of Brian their king, who fell in the action. On Chriſtmaſday (the day of the battle) a native of Caithneſs in Scotland ſaw, at a diſtance, a number of perſons on horſeback riding full ſpeed towards a hill, and ſeeming to enter into it. Curioſity led him to follow them, till looking through an opening in the rocks be ſaw twelve gigantick figures reſembling women: they were all employed about a loom, and as they wove they ſung the following dreadful ſong, which when they had finiſhed they tore the web into twelve pieces, and each taking her portion galloped ſix to the north, and as many to the ſouth.

[65]
‘Vitt er orpit fyrir Valfalli, &c.’
Now the ſtorm begins to low'r,
(Haſte, the loom of hell prepare)
Iron-ſleet of arrowy ſhow'r*
Hurtles in the darken'd air.
Glitt'ring lances are the loom
Where the duſky warp we ſtrain,
Weaving many a ſoldier's doom,
Orkney's wo and Randver's bane.
[66]
See the griſly texture grow,
('Tis of human entrails made)
And the weights that play below
Each a gaſping warriour's head.
Shafts for ſhuttles, dipt in gore,
Shoot the tremblings cords along:
Sword, that once a monarch bore,
Keep the tiſſue cloſe and ſtrong.
Miſta black, terrifick maid!
Sangrida and Hilda ſee,
Join the wayward work to aid;
'Tis the woof of victory.
Ere the ruddy ſun be ſet
Pikes muſt ſhiver jav'lins ſing,
Blade with clatt'ring bukler meet,
Hauberk craſh and helmet ring.
(Weave the crimſon web of war)
Let us go and let us fly
Where our friends the conflict ſhare,
Where they triumph, where they die.
As the paths of Fate we tread,
Wading thro' th' enſanguin'd field,
Gondula and Geira, ſpread
O'er the youthful king your ſhield.
[67]
We the reins to ſlaughter give,
Ours to kill and ours to ſpare:
Spite of danger he ſhall live.
(Weave the crimſon web of war.)
They whom once the deſert beach
Pent within its bleak domain
Soon their ample ſway ſhall ſtretch
O'er the plenty of the plain.
Low the dauntleſs earl is laid,
Gor'd with many a gaping wound:
Fate demands a nobler head;
Soon a king ſhall bite the ground.
Long his loſs ſhall Eirin weep,
Ne'er again his likeneſs ſee;
Long her ſtrains in ſorrow ſteep,
Strains of immortality!
Horrour covers all the heath,
Clouds of carnage blot the ſun:
Siſters! weave the web of death:
Siſters! ceaſe; the work is done.
Hail the taſk and hail the hands!
Songs of joy and triumph ſing;
Joy to the victorious bands,
Triumph to the younger king.
[68]
Mortal! thou that hear'ſt the tale,
Learn the tenour of our ſong:
Scotland! thro' each winding vale
Far and wide the notes prolong.
Siſters! hence with ſpurs of ſpeed;
Each her thund'ring falchion wield;
Each beſtride her ſable ſteed:
Hurry, hurry, to the field.

ODE VIII.
THE DESCENT OF ODIN. FROM THE NORSE TONGUE.
To be found in Bartholinus, de cauſis contemnendae mortis; Hafniae, 1689, quarto.

‘Upreis Odinn Allda gautr, &c.’
UPROSE the King of Men with ſpeed,
And ſaddled ſtraight his coal-black ſteed;
Down the yawning ſteep he rode
That leads to Hela's drear abode.
[69] Him the Dog of Darkneſs ſpy'd,
His ſhaggy throat he open'd wide,
While from his jaws, with carnage fill'd,
Foam and human gore diſtill'd:
Hoarſe he bays with hideous din,
Eyes that glow and fangs that grin,
And long purſues with fruitleſs yell
The father of the pow'rful ſpell:
Onward ſtill his way he takes,
(The groaning earth beneath him ſhakes)
Till full before his fearleſs eyes
The portals nine of hell ariſe.
Right againſt the eaſtern gate
By the moſs-grown pile he ſate,
Where long of yore to ſleep was laid
The duſt of the prophetick maid.
Facing to the northern clime
Thrice he trac'd the Runick rhyme,
Thrice pronounc'd, in accents dread,
The thrilling verſe that wakes the dead,
Till from out the hollow ground
Slowly breath'd a ſullen ſound.
PROPH.
What call unknown, what charms, preſume
To break the quiet of the tomb?
Who thus afflicts my troubled ſprite,
And drags me from the realms of Night?
Long on theſe mould'ring bones have beat
The winter's ſnow the ſummer's heat,
[70] The drenching dews and driving rain!
Let me, let me ſleep again.
Who is he with voice unbleſt
That calls me from the bed of reſt?
ODIN.
A traveller, to thee unknown,
Is he that calls, a warriour's ſon.
Thou the deeds of light ſhalt know,
Tell me what is done below,
For whom yon' glitt'ring board is ſpread,
Dreſt for whom yon' golden bed?
PROPH.
Mantling in the goblet ſee
The pure bev'rage of the bee,
O'er it hangs the ſhield of gold;
'Tis the drink of Balder bold;
Balder's head to death is giv'n;
Pain can reach the ſons of Heav'n!
Unwilling I my lips uncloſe;
Leave me, leave me to repoſe.
ODIN.
Once again my call obey:
Propheteſs! ariſe, and ſay
What dangers Odin's child await,
Who the author of his fate?
PROPH.
In Hoder's hand the hero's doom;
His brother ſends him to the tomb.
Now my weary lips I cloſe;
Leave me, leave me to repoſe.
ODIN.
Propheteſs! my ſpell obey,
Once again ariſe, and ſay
[71] Who th' avenger of his guilt,
By whom ſhall Hoder's blood be ſpilt?
PROPH.
In the caverns of the weſt,
By Odin's fierce embrace compreſt,
A wond'rous boy ſhall Rinda bear,
Who ne'er ſhall comb his raven-hair,
Nor waſh his viſage in the ſtream,
Nor ſee the ſun's departing beam,
Till he on Hoder's corſe ſhall ſmile
Flaming on the fun'ral pile.
Now my weary lips I cloſe;
Leave me, leave me to repoſe.
ODIN.
Yet a while my call obey:
Propheteſs! awake, and ſay
What virgins theſe, in ſpeechleſs wo,
That bend to earth their ſolemn brow,
That their flaxen treſſes tear,
And ſnowy veils that float in air?
Tell me whence their ſorrows roſe,
Then I leave thee to repoſe.
PROPH.
Ha! no traveller art thou,
King of Men, I know thee now;
Mightieſt of a mighty line—
ODIN.
No boding maid of ſkill divine
Art thou, nor propheteſs of good,
But mother of the giant-brood!
PROPH.
Hie thee hence, and boaſt at home
That never ſhall enquirer come
[72] To break my iron-ſleep again
Till Lok has burſt his tenfold chain;
Never till ſubſtantial Night
Has reaſſum'd her ancient right,
Till wrapp'd in flames, in ruin hurl'd,
Sinks the fabrick of the world.

ODE IX.
THE TRIUMPHS OF OWEN. A FRAGMENT.
From Mr. Evans's ſpecimen of the Welſh poetry, London, 1764, quarto.

[73]

Advertiſement.

OWEN ſucceeded his father Griffin in the principality of North Wales A. D. 1120; this battle was fought near forty years afterwards.

OWEN'S praiſe demands my ſong,
Owen ſwift and Owen ſtrong,
Faireſt flow'r of Rod'rick's ſtem,
Gwyneth's ſhield and Britain's gem.
He nor heaps his brooded ſtores
Nor on all profuſely pours,
Lord of ev'ry regal art,
Lib'ral hand and open heart.
Big with hoſts of mighty name
Squadrons three againſt him came,
This the force of Eirin hiding,
Side by ſide as proudly riding
On her ſhadow long and gay
Lochlin plows the wat'ry way;
There the Norman ſails afar
Catch the winds and join the war,
[74] Black and huge along they ſweep,
Burthens of the angry deep.
Dauntleſs on his native ſands
The Dragon ſon of Mona ſtands;
In glitt'ring arms and glory dreſt
High he rears his ruby creſt:
There the thund'ring ſtrokes begin,
There the preſs and there the din,
Talymalfra's rocky ſhore
Echoing to the battle's rore.
Check'd by the torrent-tide of blood
Backward Meinai rolls his flood,
While heap'd his maſter's feet around
Proſtrate warriours gnaw the ground.
Where his glowing eyeballs turn
Thouſand banners round him burn,
Where he points his purple ſpear
Haſty, haſty rout is there,
Marking with indignant eye
Fear to ſtop and Shame to fly:
There Confuſion, Terrour's child,
Conflict fierce and Ruin wild,
Agony that pants for breath,
Deſpair and honourable Death.

ODE X.
THE DEATH OF HOEL.
From the Welſh of Aneurim, ſtyled The Monarch of the Bards. He flouriſhed about the time of Talieſſin, A. D. 570. This ode is extracted from the Gododin. [See Mr. Evans's Specimens, p. 71, 73.]

[75]
HAD I but the torrent's might,
With headlong rage and wild affright
Upon Deïra's ſquadrons hurl'd
To ruſh and ſweep them from the world!
Too, too ſecure in youthful pride
By them my friend, my Hoel, dy'd,
Great Cian's ſon; of Madoc old
He aſk'd no heaps of hoarded gold;
Alone in Nature's wealth array'd
He aſk'd and had the lovely maid.
To Cattraeth's vale in glitt'ring row
Twice two hundred warriours go;
Ev'ry warriour's manly neck
Chains of regal honour deck,
Wreath'd in many a golden link:
From the golden cup they drink
Nectar that the bees produce
Or the grape's ecſtatick juice.
Fluſh'd with mirth and hope they burn,
But none from Cattraeth's vale return
[76] Save Aëron brave and Conan ſtrong,
(Burſting thro' the bloody throng)
And I the meaneſt of them all,
That live to weep and ſing their fall.

ODE XI.
FOR MUSICK.
Performed in the Senate-houſe at Cambridge July 1. 1769, at the inſtallation of his Grace Auguſtus-Henry Fitzroy, Duke of Grafton, Chancellor of the Univerſity.

I.
" HENCE, avaunt! ('tis holy ground)
" Comus and his midnight crew,
" And Ignorance with looks profound,
" And dreaming Sloth of pallid hue,
" Mad Sedition's cry profane,
" Servitude that hugs her chain,
" Nor in theſe conſecrated bow'rs
" Let painted Flatt'ry hid herſerpent-train in flow'rs,
" Nor Envy baſe nor creeping Gain
" Dare the Muſe's walk to ſtain,
" While bright-ey'd Science watches round:
" Hence, away! 'tis holy ground."
II.
From yonder realms of empyrean day
Burſts on my ear th' indignant lay;
There ſit the ſainted ſage, the bard divine,
The few whom Genius gave to ſhine
Thro' ev'ry unborn age and undiſcover'd clime.
[77] Rapt in celeſtial tranſport they,
Yet hither oft' a glance from high
They ſend of tender ſympathy
To bleſs the place where on their op'ning ſoul
Firſt the genuine ardour ſtole.
'Twas Milton ſtruck the deep-ton'd ſhell,
And as the choral warblings round him ſwell
Meek Newton's ſelf bends from his ſtate ſublime,
And nods his hoary head and liſtens to the rhyme.
III.
" Ye brown o'er-arching Groves!
" That contemplation loves,
" Where willowy Camus lingers with delight,
" Oft' at the bluſh of dawn
" I trod your level lawn,
" Oft' woo'd the gleam of Cynthia ſilver-bright
" In cloiſters dim, far from the haunts of Folly,
" With Freedom by my ſide and ſoft-ey'd Melancholy."
IV.
But hark! the portals ſound, and pacing forth
With ſolemn ſteps and ſlow
High potentates, and dames of royal birth,
And mitred fathers, in long order go:
Great Edward, with the Lilies on his brow
[78] From haughty Gallia torn,
And ſad Chatillon*, on her bridal morn
That wept her bleeding love, and princely Clare,
And Anjou's Heroine, and the paler Roſe,
The rival of her crown and of her woes,
And either Henry{inverted †} there,
The murder'd ſaint and the majeſtick lord,
That broke the bonds of Rome.
(Their tears, their little triumphs o'er,
Their human paſſions now no more,
Save charity, that glows beyond the tomb)
All that on Granta's fruitful plain
Rich ſtreams of regal bounty pour'd,
[79] And bad theſe awful fanes and turrets riſe
To hail their Fitzroy's feſtal morning come;
And thus they ſpeak in ſoft accord
The liquid language of the ſkies:
V.
" What is grandeur, what is power?
" Heavier toil, ſuperiour pain.
" What the bright reward we gain?
" The grateful mem'ry of the good.
" Sweet is the breath of vernal ſhow'r,
" The bee's collected treaſures ſweet,
" Sweet Muſick's melting fall, but ſweeter yet
" The ſtill ſmall voice of Gratitude."
VI.
Foremoſt, and leaning from her golden cloud,
The venerable Marg'ret* ſee!
" Welcome, my noble ſon!" ſhe cries aloud,
" To this thy kindred train and me:
" Pleas'd in thy lineaments we trace
" A Tudor's fire a Beaufort's grace.
" Thy lib'ral heart, thy judging eye,
" The flow'r unheeded ſhall deſcry,
" And bid it round heav'n's altars ſhed
" The fragrance of its bluſhing head;
[80] " Shall raiſe from earth the latent gem
" To glitter on the diadem.
VII.
" Lo! Granta waits to lead her blooming band;
" Not obvious, not obtruſive, ſhe
" No vulgar praiſe no venal incenſe flings,
" Nor dares with courtly tongue refin'd
" Profane thy inborn royalty of mind:
" She reveres herſelf and thee.
" With modeſt pride to grace thy youthful brow
" The laureate wreath that Cecil wore ſhe brings,
" And to thy juſt, thy gentle, hand
" Submits the faſces of her ſway,
" While ſpirits bleſt above and men below
" Join with glad voice the loud ſymphonious lay.
VIII.
" Thro' the wild waves as they roar
" With watchful eye and dauntleſs mien
" Thy ſteady courſe of honour keep,
" Nor fear the rocks nor ſeek the ſhore:
" The ſtar of Brunſwick ſmiles ſerene,
" And gilds the horrours of the deep."

MISCELLANIES.

[]

A LONG STORY.

Advertiſement.

MR. GRAY's Flegy, previous to its publication, was handed about in mſ. and had amongſt other admirers the Lady Cobham, who reſided in the manſion-houſe at Stoke-Pogeis. The performance inducing her to wiſh for the Author's acquaintance, Lady Schaub and Miſs Speed, then at her houſe, undertook to introduce her to it. Theſe two ladies waited upon the Author at his aunt's ſolitary habitation, where he at that time reſided, and not finding him at home they left a card behind them. Mr. Gray, ſurpriſed at ſuch a compliment, returned the viſit; and as the beginning of this intercourſe bore ſome appearance of romance, he gave the humorous and lively account of it which the Long Story contains.

IN Britain's iſle, no matter where,
An ancient pile of building ſtands;
The Huntingdons and Hattons there
Employ'd the pow'r of Fairy hands
To raiſe the ceiling's fretted height,
Each pannel in achievements clothing,
Rich windows that exclude the light,
And paſſages that lead to nothing.
[82]
Full oft' within the ſpacious walls,
When he had fifty winters o'er him,
My grave Lord-Keeper* led the brawls;
The ſeal and maces danc'd before him.
His buſhy beard and ſhoeſtrings green,
His highcrown'd-hat and ſattin doublet,
Mov'd the ſtout heart of England's queen,
Tho' Pope and Spaniard could not trouble it.
What, in the very firſt beginning!
Shame of the verſifying tribe!
Your hiſt'ry whether are you ſpinning?
Can you do nothing but deſcribe?
A houſe there is (and that's enough)
From whence one fatal morning iſſues
A brace of warriours, not in buff,
But ruſtling in their ſilks and tiſſues.
The firſt came cap-a-pee from France,
Her conq'ring deſtiny fulfilling,
Whom meaner beauties eye aſkance,
And vainly ape her art of killing.
The other Amazon kind Heav'n
Had arm'd with ſpirit, wit, and ſatire;
[83] But Cobham had the poliſh giv'n,
And tipp'd her arrows with good-nature.
To celebrate her eyes, her air—
Coarſe panegyricks would but teaſe her;
Meliſſa is her nom de guerre;
Alas! who would not wiſh to pleaſe her?
With bonnet blue and capuchine,
And aprons long, they hid their armour,
And veil'd their weapons bright and keen
In pity to the country farmer.
Fame in the ſhape of Mr. P [...]t
(By this time all the pariſh know it)
Had told that thereabouts there lurk'd
A wicked imp they call a Poet,
Who prowl'd the country far and near,
Bewitch'd the children of the peaſants,
Dry'd up the cows and lam'd the deer,
And ſuck'd the eggs and kill'd the pheaſants.
My Lady heard their joint petition,
Swore by her coronet and ermine
She'd iſſue out her high commiſſion
To rid the manor of ſuch vermine.
The heroines undertook the taſk;
Thro' lanes unknown, o'er ſtiles, they ventur'd,
Rapp'd at the door, nor ſtay'd to aſk,
But bounce into the parlour enter'd.
[84]
The trembling family they daunt,
They flirt, they ſing, they laugh, they tattle,
Rummage his mother, pinch his aunt,
And up ſtairs in a whirlwind rattle.
Each hole and cupboard they explore,
Each creek and cranny of his chamber,
Run hurry-ſkurry round the floor,
And o'er the bed and teſter clamber;
Into the drawers and china pry,
Papers and books, a huge imbroglio!
Under a teacup he might lie,
Or creas'd like dogs-cars in a folio.
On the firſt marching of the troops
The Muſes, hopeleſs of his pardon,
Convey'd him underneath their hoops
To a ſmall cloſet in the garden.
So Rumour ſays; (who will believe)
But that they left the door a-jar,
Where ſafe, and laughing in his ſleeve,
He heard the diſtant din of war.
Short was his joy: he little knew
The pow'r of magick was no fable;
Out of the window wiſk they flew,
But left a ſpell upon the table.
The words too eager to unriddle
The Poet felt a ſtrange diſorder;
Tranſparent birdlime form'd the middle,
And chains inviſible the border.
[85]
So cunning was the apparatus,
The pow'rful pothooks did ſo move him,
That will he nill he to the great houſe
He went as if the devil drove him.
Yet on his way (no ſign of grace,
For folks in fear are apt to pray)
To Phoebus he preferr'd his caſe,
And begg'd his aid that dreadful day.
The godhead would have back'd his quarrel,
But with a bluſh, on recollection
Own'd that his quiver and his laurel
'Gainſt four ſuch eyes were no protection.
The court was ſat, the culprit there;
Forth from their gloomy manſions creeping
The Lady Janes and Joans repair,
And from the gallery ſtand peeping:
Such as in ſilence of the night
Come (ſweep) along ſome winding entry,
(Styack has often ſeen the ſight)
Or at the chapel-door ſtand ſentry:
In peaked-hoods and mantles tarniſh'd,
Sour viſages enough to ſcare ye,
High dames of honour once that garniſh'd
The drawingroom of fierce Queen Mary!
The peereſs comes: the audience ſtare,
And doff their hats with due ſubmiſſion;
She court'ſies as ſhe takes her chair
To all the people of condition.
[86]
The Bard with many an artful ſib
Had in imagination fenc'd him,
Diſprov'd the arguments of Squib*,
And all that Groom could urge againſt him
But ſoon his rhetorick forſook him
When he the ſolemn hall had ſeen;
A ſudden fit of ague ſhook him;
He ſtood as mute as poor Macleane.
Yet ſomething he was heard to mutter,
" How in the park beneath an old-tree
" (Without deſign to hurt the butter,
" Or any malice to the poultry)
" He once or twice had penn'd a ſonnet,
" Yet hop'd that he might ſave his bacon;
" Numbers would give their oaths upon it
" He ne'er was for a conj'rer taken."
The ghoſtly prudes with hagged face
Already had condemn'd the ſinner:
My Lady roſe, and with a grace—
She ſmil'd, and bid him come to dinner{inverted †}.
[87]
" Jeſu-Maria! Madam Bridget,
" Why, what can the Viſcounteſs mean?"
Cry'd the ſquare hoods in woful fidget,
" The times are alter'd quite and clean!
" Decorum's turn'd to mere civility;
" Her air and all her manners ſhew it:
" Commend me to her affability!
" Speak to a Commoner and Poet!"

[Here 500 ſtanzas are loſt.]

And ſo God ſave our noble king,
And guard us from long-winded lubbers,
That to eternity would ſing,
And keep my lady from her rubbers.

ELEGY.
WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD.

THE curfew tolls* the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd wind ſlowly o'er the lea,
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkneſs and to me.
Now fades the glimm'ring landſcape on the ſight,
And all the air a ſolemn ſtillneſs holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowſy tinklings lull the diſtant folds;
[88]
Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r
The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of ſuch as wand'ring near her ſecret bow'r
Modeſt her ancient ſolitary reign.
Beneath thoſe rugged elms, that yew-tree's ſhade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap,
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
The rude forefathers of the hamlet ſleep.
The breezy call of incenſe-breathing Morn,
The ſwallow twitt'ring from the ſtraw-built ſhed,
The cock's ſhrill clarion or the echoing horn,
No more ſhall rouſe them from their lowly bed.
For them no more the blazing hearth ſhall burn,
Or buſy houſewife ply her ev'ning-care,
No children run to liſp their ſire's return,
Or climb his knees the envy'd kiſs to ſhare.
Oft' did the harveſt to their ſickle yield,
Their furrow oft' the ſtubborn glebe has broke;
How jocund did they drive their team afield!
How bow'd the woods beneath their ſturdy ſtroke!
Let not Ambition mock their uſeful toil,
Their homely joys and deſtiny obſcure,
Nor Grandeur hear with a diſdainful ſmile
The ſhort and ſimple annals of the poor.
The boaſt of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r,
And all that beauty, all that wealth, e'er gave,
Await alike th' inevitable hour:
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
[89]
Nor you, ye Proud! impute to theſe the fault,
If Mem'ry o'er their tomb no trophies raiſe
Where thro' the long-drawn aiſle and fretted vault
The pealing anthem ſwells the note of praiſe.
Can ſtoried urn or animated buſt
Back to its manſion call the fleeting breath?
Can Honour's voice provoke the ſilent duſt,
Or Flatt'ry ſooth the dull cold ear of Death?
Perhaps in this neglected ſpot is laid
Some heart once pregnant with celeſtial fire,
Hands that the rod of empire might have ſway'd,
Or wak'd to ecſtaſy the living lyre.
But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page,
Rich with the ſpoils of Time, did ne'er unroll;
Chill Penury repreſs'd their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the ſoul.
Full many a gem of pureſt ray ſerene
The dark unfathom'd caves of Ocean bear;
Full many a flow'r is born to bluſh unſeen,
And waſte its ſweetneſs on the deſert air.
Some village-Hampden, that with dauntleſs breaſt
The little tyrant of his fields withſtood,
Some mute inglorious Milton, here may reſt,
Some Cromwell, guiltleſs of his country's blood.
Th' applauſe of liſt'ning ſenates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to deſpiſe,
To ſcatter plenty o'er a ſmiling land,
And read their hiſt'ry in a nation's eyes,
[90]
Their lot forbad; nor circumſcrib'd alone
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confin'd;
Forbad to wade thro' ſlaughter to a throne,
And ſhut the gates of mercy on mankind,
The ſtruggling pangs of conſcious Truth to hide,
To quench the bluſhes of ingenuous Shame,
Or heap the ſhrine of Luxury and Pride
With incenſe kindled at the Muſe's flame.
Far from the madding crowd's ignoble ſtrife*
Their ſober wiſhes never learn'd to ſtray;
Along the cool ſequeſter'd vale of life
They kept the noiſeleſs tenor of their way.
Yet ev'n theſe bones from inſult to protect
Some frail memorial ſtill erected nigh,
With uncouth rhymes and ſhapeleſs ſculpture deck'd,
Implores the paſſing tribute of a ſigh.
Their name, their years, ſpelt by th' unletter'd Muſe,
The place of fame and elegy ſupply,
And many a holy text around ſhe ſtrews
That teach the ruſtick moraliſt to die.
For who to dumb Forgetfulneſs a prey
This pleaſing anxious being e'er reſign'd,
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
Nor caſt one longing ling'ring look behind?
[91]
On ſome fond breaſt the parting ſoul relies,
Some pious drops the cloſing eye requires;
Ev'n from the tomb the voice of Nature cries,
Ev'n in our aſhes* live their wonted fires.
For thee, who mindful of th' unhonour'd dead
Doſt in theſe lines their artleſs tale relate,
If chance, by lonely Contemplation led,
Some kindred ſpirit ſhall inquire thy fate,
Haply ſome hoary-headed ſwain may ſay,
" Oft' have we ſeen him at the peep of dawn
" Bruſhing with haſty ſteps the dews away
" To meet the ſun upon the upland lawn.
" There at the foot of yonder nodding beech,
" That wreathes its old fantaſtick root ſo high,
" His liſtleſs length at noon-tide would he ſtretch,
" And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
" Hard by yon' wood, now ſmiling as in ſcorn,
" Mutt'ring his wayward fancies, he would rove;
" Now drooping, woful wan! like one forlorn,
" Or craz'd with care, or croſs'd in hopeleſs love.
" One morn I miſs'd him on the cuſtom'd hill,
" Along the heath, and near his fav'rite tree;
" Another came; nor yet beſide the rill,
" Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood, was he:
[92]
" The next, with dirges due, in ſad array
" Slow thro' the churchway-path we ſaw him borne:
" Approach, and read (for thou canſt read) the lay
" Grav'd on the ſtone beneath yon' aged thorn*:"

THE EPITAPH.

HERE reſts his head upon the lap of Earth
A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown;
Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth,
And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.
Large was his bounty, and his ſoul ſincere;
Heav'n did a recompenſe as largely ſend;
He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a tear,
He gain'd from Heav'n ('t was all he wiſh'd) a friend.
No farther ſeek his merits to diſcloſe,
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,
(There they alike in trembling hope repoſe)
The boſom of his Father and his God.

EPITAPH
ON MRS. CLARKE*.

[93]
Lo! where this ſilent marble weeps
A friend, a wife, a mother, ſleeps;
A heart within whoſe ſacred cell
The peaceful Virtues lov'd to dwell:
Affection warm and faith ſincere,
And ſoft humanity were there.
In agony, in death, reſign'd,
She felt the wound ſhe left behind.
Her infant image here below
Sits ſmiling on a father's wo,
Whom what awaits while yet he ſtrays
Along the lonely vale of days?
A pang, to ſecret ſorrow dear,
A ſigh, an unavailing tear,
Till time ſhall ev'ry grief remove
With life, with mem'ry, and with love.

TRANSLATION FROM STATIUS.

THIRD in the labours of the diſk came on,
With ſturdy ſtep and ſlow, Hippomedon;
Artful and ſtrong he pois'd the well-known weight,
By Phlegyas warn'd and fir'd by Mneſtheus' fate
That to avoid and this to emulate.
His vig'rous arm he try'd before he flung,
Brac'd all his nerves and ev'ry ſinew ſtrung,
[94] Then with a tempeſt's whirl and wary eye
Purſu'd his caſt and hurl'd the orb on high;
The orb on high, tenacious of its courſe,
True to the mighty arm that gave it force,
Far overleaps all bound, and joys to ſee
Its ancient lord ſecure of victory:
The theatre's green height and woody wall
Tremble ere it precipitates its fall;
The pond'rous maſs ſinks in the cleaving ground,
While vales and woods and echoing hills rebound.
As when from Aetna's ſmoking ſummit broke
The eyeleſs Cyclops heav'd the craggy rock,
Where Ocean frets beneath the daſhing oar,
And parting ſurges round the veſſel roar,
'Twas there he aim'd the meditated harm,
And ſcarce Ulyſſes ſcap'd his giant arm.
A tiger's pride the victor bore away,
With native ſpots and artful labour gay,
A ſhining border round the margin roll'd,
And calm'd the terrours of his claws in gold.

GRAY OF HIMSELF.

Too poor for a bribe, and too proud to importune,
He had not the method of making a fortune;
Could love and could hate, ſo was thought ſomewhat odd;
No very great wit, he believ'd in a God:
A poſt or a penſion he did not deſire,
But left church and ſtate to Charles Townſhend and Squire.
THE END.
[]
Notes
*
A money-ſcrlvener.
*
‘Here lieth the body of Richard Weſt Eſq. only ſon to the Right Hon. Richard Weſt Eſq. late Lord Chancellor of Ireland, who died the 1ſt of June 1742, in the 26th year of his age.’
Hactenus haud ſegnis Naturae arcana retexi
Muſarum interpres, primuſque Britanna per arva
Romano liquidum deduxi flumine rivum.
Cum Tu opere in medio, ſpes tanti et cauſa laborls,
Linquis et aeternam fati te condis in umbram!
Vidi egomet duro graviter concuſſa dolore
Pectora, in alterius non unquam lenta dolorem;
Et languere oculos vidi, et palleſcere amantem
Vultum, quo nunquam Pietas niſi rara, Fideſque,
Altus amor Veri, et purum ſpirabat Honeſtum.
Viſa tamen tardi demùm inclementia morbi
Ceſſare eſt, reducemque iterum roſeo ore Salutem
Speravi, atque unà tecum, dilecte Favoni!
Credulus heu longos, ut quondam, fallere Soles:
Heu ſpes nequicquam dulces, atque irrita vota!
Heu maeſtos Soles, ſine te quos ducere flendo
Per deſideria, et queſtus jam cogor inanes!
At Tu, ſancta anima, et noſtri non indiga luctus,
Stellanti templo, ſincerique aetheris igne,
Unde orta es, fruere; atque o ſi ſecura, nec ultra
Mortalis, notos olim miſerata labores
Reſpectes, tenueſque vacet cognoſcere curas;
Humanam ſi fortè alta de ſede procellam
Contemplere, metus, ſtimuloſque cupidinis acres,
Gaudiaque et gemitus, parvoque in corde tumultum
Irarum ingentem, et ſaevos ſub pectore fluctus;
Reſpice et has lacrymas, memori quas ictus amore
Fundo, quod poſſum, juxtà lugere ſepulchrum
Dum juvat, et mutae vana haec jactare favillae.
The headpiece to the Long Story, exhibiting a view of Stoke-Pogeis church and manſion, was copied from a ſketch by Mr. Gray. The Churchyard was the ſubject of his elegy.
*

Here ſleep the remains of
Dorothy Gray,
widow, the careful tender mother
of many children, one of whom alone
had the misfortune to ſurvive her.

*
Ode on Spring.
Ode on the Proſpect of Eton College.
Bard, an ode.
*
Ode to Adverſity.
The Progreſs of Poetry.
The Fatal Siſters, an ode.
*
Elegy in a Country Churchyard.
*
—a bank
O'er-canopy'd with luſcious woodbine.
Shakeſp. Midſ. Night's Dream.
*
‘Nare per asſtatem liquidam. Virg. Georg. lib. 4.
—ſporting with quick glance,
Shew to the ſun their wav'd coats dropt with gold.
Milton's Paradiſe Loſt, b. 7.
‘While inſects from the threſhold preach, &c. M. Green in the Grotto. Dodſley's Miſcellanies, vol. v. p. 161.
*
King Henry VI. founder of the college.
*
‘And bees their honey redolent of ſpring. Dryden's Fable on the Pythag. Syſtem.
*
‘And Madneſs laughing in his ireful mood. Dryden's Fable of Palamon and Arcite.
*
Awake, my glory! awake, lute and harp. David's Pſalms. Pindar ſtyles his own poetry, with its muſical accompaniements, [...], Aeolian ſong, Aeolian ſtrings, the breath of the Aeolian flute.—The ſubject and ſimile, as uſual with Pindar, are here united. The various ſources of poetry which gives life and luſtre to all it touches are here deſcribed as well in its quiet majeſtick progreſs, enriching every ſubject (otherwiſe dry and barren) with all the pomp of diction and luxuriant harmony of numbers, as in its more rapid and irreſiſtible courſe, when ſwoln and hurried away by the conflict of tumultuous paſſions.
*
Power of harmony to calm the turbulent paſſions of the ſoul. The thoughts are borrowed from the firſt Pythian of Pindar.
This is a weak imitation of ſome beautiful lines in the ſame ode.
*
Power of harmony to produce all the graces of motion in the body.
[...] Homer, Od. Θ.
[...]
[...]
Phrynichus apud Athenoeum.
To compenſate the real or imaginary ills of life the Muſe was given to mankind by the fame Providence that ſends the day by its cheerful preſence to diſpel the gloom and terrours of the night.
*
Or ſeen the morning's well-appointed ſtar,
Come marching up the eaſtern hills afar.
Cowley.
Extenſive influence of poetick genius over the remoteſt and moſt uncivilized nations; its connexion with liberty, and the virtues that naturally attend on it. [See the Erſe, Norwegian, and Welſh, Fragments, the Lapland and American ſongs, &c.]
‘Extra anni ſoliſque vias.—Virgil. ‘Tutta lontana dal camin del ſole.Petrarch, Canz. 2.
*
Progreſs of poetry from Greece to Italy, and from Italy to England. Chaucer was not unacquainted with the writings of Dante or of Petrarch. The Earl of Surry and Sir Thomas Wyatt had travelled in Italy, and formed their taſte there; Spenſer imitated the Italian writers, Milton improved on them: but this ſchool expired ſoon after the reſtoration, and a new one aroſe on the French model, which has ſubſiſted ever ſince.
*
Shakeſpeare.
Milton.
‘—flammantia moenia mundi. Lucretius.
‘For the ſpirit of the living creature was in the wheels.—And above the firmament that was over their heads was the likeneſs of a throne, as the appearance of a ſapphire ſtone.—This was the appearance of the glory of the Lord. Ezekiel i. 20, 26, 28.
*
[...] Hom. Od.
Meant to expreſs the ſtately march and ſounding energy of Dryden's rhymes.
‘Haſt thou clothed his neck with thunder? Job.
‘Words that weep and tears that ſpeak. Cowley.
{inverted †}
We have had in our language no other odes of the ſublime kind than that of Dryden on St. Cecilla's day, for Cowley, who had his merit, yet wanted judgment, ſtyle, and harmony, for ſuch a taſk. That of Pope is not worthy of ſo great a man. Mr. Maſon indeed, of late days, has touched the true chords, and with a maſterly hand, in ſome of his choruſes—above all in the laſt of Caractacus; ‘Hark! heard ye not yon' footſtep dread? &c.
{horizontal ‡}
[...] Olymp. ii. Pindar compares himſelf to that bird, and his enemies to ravens that croak and clamour in vain below, while it purſues its flight regardleſs of their noiſe.
*
‘Mocking the air with colours idly ſpread. Shakeſp. King John.
The hauberk was a texture of ſteel ringlets or rings interwoven, forming a coat of mail that ſat cloſe to the body and adapted itſelf to every motion.
‘The creſted adder's pride. Dryden's Indian Queen.
Snowdon was a name given by the Saxons to that mountainous track which the Welſh themſelves call Craigian-eryri: it included all the highlands of Caernarvonſhire and Merionethſhire, as far eaſt as the river Conway. R. Hygden, ſpeaking of the Caſtle of Conway, built by King Edward I. ſays, Ad ortum amnis Conway ad clivum montis Erery; and Matthew of Weſtminſter, (ad an. 1283) Apud Aberconway ad pedes montis Snowdoniae fecit erigi caſtrum forte.
*
Gilbert de Clare, ſurnamed the Red, Earl of Glouceſter and Hertford, ſon-in-law to King Edward.
Edmond de Mortimer, Lord of Wigmore. They both were Lords Marchers, whoſe landslay on the borders of Wales, and probably accompanied the king in this expedition.
The image was taken from a well-known picture of Raphael repreſenting the Supreme Being in the viſion of Ezekiel. There are two of theſe paintings, both believed original, one at Florence, the other at Paris.
‘Shone like a meteor ſtreaming to the wind. Milton's Paradiſe Loſt.
*
The ſhores of Caernarvonſhire, oppoſite to the Iſle of Angleſey.
Camden and others obſerve that eagles uſed annually to build their aerie among the rocks of Snowdon, which from thence (as ſome think) were named by the Welſh Craigian-eryri, or the crags of the eagles. At this day (I am told) the higheſt point of Snowdon is called The Eagle's Neſt. That bird is certainly no ſtranger to this iſland, as the Scots, and the people of Cumberland, Weſtmoreland, &c. can teſtify: it even has built its neſt in the Peak of Derbyſhire. [See Willoughby's Ornithol. publiſhed by Ray.]
As dear to me as are the ruddy drops
That viſit my ſad heart—
Shakeſp. Julius Caeſar.
*
See the Norwegian ode that follows.
Edward II. cruelly butchered in Berkley Caſtle.
Iſabel of France, Edward II's adulterous queen.
Triumphs of Edward III. in France.
*
Death of that king, abandoned by his children, and even robbed in his laſt moments by his courtiers and his miſtreſs.
Edw. the Black Prince, dead ſome time before his father.
Magnificence of Rich. II's reign. See Froiſſard, and other contemporary writers.
Richard II. (as we are told by Archbiſhop Scroop and the confederate Lords in their manifeſto, by Thomas of Walſingham, and all the older writers) was ſtarved to death. The ſtory of his aſſaſſination by Sir Piers of Exon is of much later date.
*
Ruinous civil wars of York and Lancaſter.
Henry VI. George Duke of Clarence, Edward V. Richard Duke of York, &c. believed to be murdered ſecretly in the Tower of London. The oldeſt part of that ſtructure is vulgarly attributed to Julius Caeſar.
Margaret of Anjou, a woman of heroick ſpirit, who ſtruggled hard to ſave her huſband and her crown.
Henry V.
{inverted †}
Henry VI. very near being canonized. The line of Lancaſter had no right of inheritance to the crown.
**
The white and red Roſes, devices of York and Lancaſter.
{horizontal ‡}
The ſilver Boar was the badge of Richard III. whence he was uſually known in his own time by the name of The Boar.
*
Eleanor of Caſtile died a few years after the conqueſt of Wales. The heroick proof ſhe gave of her affection for her lord is well known. The monuments of his regret and ſorrow for the loſs of her are ſtill to be ſeen at Northampton, Gaddington, Waltham, and other places.
It was the common belief of the Welſh nation that King Arthur was ſtill alive in Fairyland, and ſhould return again to reign over Britain.
Both Merlin and Talieſſin had propheſied that the Welſh ſhould regain their ſovereignty over this iſland, which ſeemed to be accompliſhed in the houſe of Tudor.
*
Speed, relating an audience given by Queen Elizabeth to Paul Dzialinſki, ambaſſador of Poland, ſays ‘"And thus ſhe, lion-like riſing, daunted the malapert orator no leſs with her ſtately port and majeſtical deporture than with the tartneſſe of her princelie checkes."’
Talieſſin, chief of the Bards, flouriſhed in the 6th century. His works are ſtill preſerved, and his memory held in high veneration among his countrymen.
‘Fierce wars and faithful loves ſhall moralize my ſong. Spenſer's Proem to The Fairy Queen.
Shakeſpeare.
Milton.
The ſucceſſion of poets after Milton's time.
64
Note.—The Valkyriur were female divinities, ſervants of Odin (or Woden) in the Gothick mythology. Their name ſignifies Chuſers of the ſlain. They were mounted on ſwift horſes, with drawn ſwords in their hands, and in the throng of battle ſelected ſuch as were deſtined to ſlaughter, and conducted them to Valkalla, (the hall of Odin, or paradiſe of the brave) where they attended the banquet, and ſerved the departed heroes with horns of mead and ale.
*
How quick they wheel'd, and flying, behind them ſhot
Sharp ſleet of arrowy ſhow'r—
Milt. Par. Reg.
‘The noiſe of battle hurtled in the air. Shakeſp. Jul. Caeſ.
Ireland.
Niflheimr, the hell of the Gothick nations, conſiſted of nine worlds, to which were devoted all ſuch as died of ſickneſs, old age, or by any other means than in battle; over it preſided Hela, the goddeſs of Death.
Lok is the evil being, who continues in chains till the twilight of the gods approaches, when he ſhall break his bonds; the human-race, the ſtars, and ſun, ſhall diſappear, the earth ſink in the ſeas, and fire conſume the ſkies; even Odin himſelf, and his kindred-deities, ſhall periſh. For a farther explanation of this mythology ſee Introduction a l'Hiſtoire de Dannemarc par Monſ. Mallat, 1755, 4to; or rather a tranſlation of it publiſhed in 1770, and entitled Northern Antiquities, in which ſome miſtakes in the original are judiciouſly corrected.
North Wales.
Denmark.
The red Dragon is the device of Cadwallader, which all his deſcendants bore on their banners.
Edward III. who added the Fleur de lys of France to the arms of England. He founded Trinity-college.
*
Mary de Valentia, Counteſs of Pembroke, daughter of Guy de Chatillon, Comte de St. Paul in France, of whom tradition ſays that her huſband Audemar de Valentia, Earl of Pembroke, was ſlain at a tournament on the day of his nuptials. She was the foundreſs of Pembroke-college or Hall, under the name of Aula Mariae de Valentia.
Elizabeth de Burg, Counteſs of Clare, was wife of John de Burg, ſon and heir of the Eaal of Ulſter, and daughter of Gilbert de Clare, Earl of Glouceſter, by Joan of Acres, daughter of Edward I.; hence the poet gives her the epithet of princely. She founded Clare-hall.
Margaret of Anjou, wife of Henry VI. foundreſs of Queen'scollege. The poet has celebrated her conjugal ſidelity in a former ode.
Elizabeth Widville, wife of Edward IV. (hence called the paler Roſe, as being of the houſe of York.) She added to the foundation of Margaret of Anjou.
{inverted †}
Henry the VI. and VIII. the former the founder of King's, the latter the greateſt benefactor to Trinity-college.
*
Counteſs of Richmond and Derby, the mother of H. VII. foundreſs of St. John's and Chriſt's colleges.
The Counteſs was a Beaufort, and married to a Tudor; hence the application of this line to the Duke of Grafton, who claims deſcent from both theſe families.
Lord Treaſurer Burleigh was Chancellor of the Univerſity in the reign of Queen Elizabeth.
The manſion-houſe at Stoke-Pogeis, then in the poſſeſſion of Viſcounteſs Cobham. The ſtyle of building which we now call Queen Elizabeth's is here admirably deſcribed both with regard to its beauties and defects; and the third and fourth ſtanzas delineate the fantaſtick manners of her time with equal truth and humour. The houſe formerly belonged to the Earls of Huntingdon and the family of Hatton.
*
Sir Chriſtopher Hatton, promoted by Queen Elizabeth for his graceful perſon and fine dancing.—Brawls were a ſort of figure-dance then in vogue, and probably deemed as elegant as our modern cotillons, or ſtill more modern quadrilles.
The reader is already appriſed who theſe ladies were; the two deſcriptions are prettily contraſted; and nothing can be more happily turned than the compliment to Lady Cobham in the eighth ſtanza.
I have been told that this gentleman, a neighbour and acquaintance of Mr. Gray's in the country, was much diſpleaſed at the liberty here taken with his name, yet ſurely without any great reaſon.
The houſekeeper.
*
The ſteward.
Groom of the chamber.
A famous highwayman, hanged the week before.
Hagged, i. e. the face of a witch or hag; the epithet hagard has been ſometimes miſtaken as conveying the ſame idea, but it means a very different thing, viz. wild and farouche, and is taken from an unreclaimed hawk called an hagard.
{inverted †}
Here the ſtory finiſhes; the exclamation of the ghoſts which follows is characteriſtick of the Spaniſh manners of the age when they are ſuppoſed to have lived; and the 500 ſtanzas ſaid to be loſt may be imagined to contain the remainder of their long-winded expoſtulation.
*
—ſquilla di lontano
Che paia 'l giorno pianger, che ſi muore.
Dante, Purgat. 1. 8.
*

This part of the Elegy differs from the firſt copy: the following ſtanza was excluded with the other alterations;

Hark! how the ſacred calm that breathes around
Bids ev'ry fierce tumultuous paſſion ceaſe,
In ſtill ſmall accents whiſp'ring from the ground
A grateful earneſt of eternal peace.
*
Ch'i veggio nel penſier, dolce mio fuoco,
Fredda una lingua, et due begli occhi chiuſi
Rimaner droppo noi pien di faville.
Petrarch, Son. 169.
Mr. Gray forgot, when he diſplaced by the preceding ſtanza his beautiful deſcription of the evening haunt the reference to it which he had here left;
Him have we ſeen the greenwood ſide along,
While o'er the heath we hy'd, our labour done,
Oft' as the woodlark pip'd her farewell ſong,
With wiſtful eyes purſue the ſetting fun.
*
In the early editions the following lines were added, but the parentheſis was thought too long;
There ſcatter'd oft', the earlieſt of the year,
By hands unſeen, are ſhow'rs of vi'lets ſound;
The redbreaſt loves to build and warble there,
And little footſteps lightly print the ground.
‘—Paventoſa ſpeme. Petrarch, Son. 114.
*
This lady, the wife of Dr. Clarke phyſician at Epſom, died April 27th 1757, and is buried in the church of Beckenham, Kent.
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Zitationsvorschlag für dieses Objekt
TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 5257 The poetical works of Thomas Gray With the life of the author. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-606F-C