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Cornell University Library 
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 Poetical works, English and Latin. 
 
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 PIJBLIS-HED T,YT, P .WlLLnAMS. 
 1861 
 
THE POETICAL WORKS 
 
 OP 
 
 THOMAS GEAY. 
 
 ENGLISH AND LATIN. 
 
 ^Itotrotet 
 
 jFtfti) eattioix. 
 
 ETON, 
 E. P. WILLIAMS, PRINTER AND PUBLISHER; 
 
 AND AT 
 
 e, BKIDO-E STREET, BLACKFEIABS, LONDON. 
 
 MDCCCLIV. 
 
IN ADDITION TO 
 
 GEAY'S COMPLETE WORKS, 
 
 THIS VOLUME CONTAINS- 
 
 AN ORIGINAL LIFE OF GRAY, 
 
 EEY. JOHN MITEOED, M. A. 
 
 INTRODUCTORY STANZAS 
 
 THE REV. JOHN MOULTEIE, M.A. 
 
 A LECTURE ON THE WRITINGS OF GRAY, 
 
 RIGHT HON. THE EARL OE CARLISLE, 
 
 &c. &c. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Life by the Rev. J. Mitford . . . . . . i 
 
 Lecture on the Writings of Gray, by the Earl of Carlisle Ixix 
 
 Introductory Stanzas by the Rev. J. Moultrie . . . . 3 
 
 English Poems. 
 
 
 Ode on Spring . . 
 
 17 
 
 On the Death of a Favourite Cat . . 
 
 .. 19 
 
 On a Distant Prospect of Eton College . . 
 
 21 
 
 To Adversity 
 
 .. 25 
 
 The Progress of Poesy 
 
 28 
 
 The Bard .. 
 
 .. 33 
 
 Ode for Music 
 
 39 
 
 The Fatal Sisters 
 
 .. 43 
 
 The Descent of Odin 
 
 46 
 
 The Triumphs of Owen 
 
 .. 50 
 
 The Death of Hoel 
 
 52 
 
 Sonnet on the Death of Mr. West . . 
 
 .. 54 
 
 Epitaph on Mrs. Clarke 
 
 55 
 
 „ „ Sir Wm. Williams 
 
 .. 56 
 
 Elegy written in a Country Churchyard . . 
 
 57 
 
 Translation from Statius 
 
 .. 63 
 
 Song 
 
 64 
 
 A Long Story 
 
 .. 65 
 
 Ode on the Pleasure arising from Vicissitude 
 
 72 
 
 Agrippina : an unfinished Tragedy . . 
 
 .. n 
 
 Hymn to Ignorance , . 
 
 .. 85 
 
VI CONTETNS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Alliance of Education and Government . . . • 87 
 
 Stanzas to Mr. Bentley . . . . 92 
 
 Sketch of his own Character . . . . . . 94 
 
 Amatory Lines . . . . . . . . ib- 
 
 Imitated from Propertius, Lib. III. Eleg. V. . . . . 95 
 
 Lib. IL Eleg. I. .. 97 
 
 „ „ Tasso, Gerus. Lib. Cant. XIV. . . 100 
 
 Latin. 
 
 De Principiis Cogitandi . . . . . . 103 
 
 Minor Latin Poems . . . . . . ..115 
 
 Latin Translations from the ' Anthologia Graeca' . . 137 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 The Drawings made expressly for this AVork by Charles 
 W.Radclyfi-'Ej the Steel Engravings by E.Rabclyffe; 
 the Wood-cuts by S. Williams, and Sly. 
 
 Medallion Portrait of Gray, by Freebairn 
 Eton Playing Fields— Sheep's Bridge, &c. 
 Gray's Residence, West End, Stoke -» 
 Summer House at Ditto . . . j 
 Eton College (General View) 
 Pembroke College, Cambridge (Entrance) . 
 
 „ „ „ (Ridley's Walk) 
 
 „ „ ,, Gray's Room, &c. 
 
 Stoke Church, East End, with Tablet to Gray 
 
 „ „ (General View) . 
 
 „ „ iThe Porch) 
 
 Windsor Castle, from 'Sixth Form Bench* 
 Upton Old Chuxch (' The Ivy-mantled Tower') 
 Monument to Gray, in Stoke Park 
 Manor House, Stoke Park 
 
 Frontispiece. 
 
 Vignette Title. 
 
 to face each other, x. 
 
 u 
 
 face page y^ni. 
 
 
 
 xxxii. 
 
 
 
 xliii. 
 
 
 
 xlvi. 
 
 
 
 xli. 
 
 . 
 
 
 3 
 
 
 
 8 
 
 
 
 21 
 
 
 
 57 
 
 
 
 62 
 
 
 
 65 
 
LIFE OF GKAY. 
 
 Thom.\s Gray, tlie subject of the present narrative, 
 ^ was the fifth child of Mr. Phihp Gray, a citizen and 
 Vnoney-scrivener of London.* His grandfather was also 
 a merchant in good repute in the same place. The 
 maiden name of his mother was Dorothy Antrobus. 
 Thomas Gray was born in Cornhill, the 36th of December, 
 171'3, and was the only one of twelve children who 
 siv/'vived, the rest dying in their infancy ; and he owed his 
 life entirely to the tenderness and courage of his mother, 
 who, we are told, removed the paroxysms that attacked 
 him by opening a vein with her own hand. Of the 
 character of his father it is painful to speak : a long and 
 unrestrained indulgence in the violent passions of his 
 temper seems at last to have perverted the natural 
 feelings of his heart, and ended in that mahgnity of dis- 
 position, that made the parent and husband the enemy of 
 his own family. Such was the cruelty of his treatment to 
 
 * Gray's father, Mr. Cole tells us, in his MS. Collection, had been an Exchange-broker . 
 but the fortune he had acquired of about jflO.OOO was greatly hurt by the fire in Cornhill ; 
 so that Mr. Gray, many years ago, sunk a good part of what was left, and purchased an 
 annuity, to have a fuller income. He also says that Gray's property amounted at his death 
 to above 4^7000. In a copy of Gray's Poems which was Sir James Mackintosh's, and 
 subsequently mine, he had calculated, in a blank leaf, the amount of Gray's property, and 
 made it nearly about the sum above mentioned, " His income, he writes, about wSTOO 
 " per annum, which (more than 40 years ago,) was no inconsiderable sum." 
 
11 LIFE OF GRAY. 
 
 his wife, that she sought the advice of an eminent civiHan, 
 A. D. 1735, as a protection to her person and fortune: 
 and it appears by the document preserved, among other 
 things, that she alone provided for every thing for her son 
 while at Eton School and at Peter-House College, without 
 being any charge to her husband ; that he daily treated 
 her in the most inhuman manner, threatening to pursue 
 her vpith all the vengeance possible, and that he will ruin 
 himself, to undo her and his only son ; but that she was 
 resolved, if possible, to bear all this, not to leave her shop 
 or trade, for the sake of her son, to be able to assist in 
 the maintenance of him at the University, since his father 
 would not. No wonder that the memory of this admirable 
 woman was ever preserved with the utmost tenderness by 
 Gray. Mason says, that he seldom mentioned his mother 
 without a sigh. After his death, her gowns and wearing 
 apparel were found in a trunk in his apartments, just as 
 she had left them. It seemed as if he could never take 
 the resolution to open it, in order to distribute them to 
 his female relatives, to whom by his will he bequeathed 
 them. It was towards the close of his life, in a letter 
 which he wrote to his friend Mr. NichoUs, that we .find 
 this feeling still existing in all its force: — " I had written, 
 he says, to inform you that I had discovered a thing 
 very Httle known ; which is, that in one's whole life, one 
 can never have more than a single mother : you may 
 think this obvious, and what you call a trite observation. 
 You are a green gosling ! I was, at the sauis age, very 
 near as wise as you, and yet I never discovered this, with 
 full evidence and conviction I mean, till it was too late. 
 It is thirteen years ago, and seems but as yesterday ; and 
 every day I live, it sinks deeper into my heart." 
 
 Gray was educated at Eton, under the protection of 
 Mr. Antrobus, his maternal uncle, who was at the time 
 
LIFE OF GRAY. Ul 
 
 assistant to Dr. George. Mr. Nicholls once asked Gray, 
 If he recollected when he first perceived in himself any 
 symptoms of poetry. He answered, " He believed it was 
 when at Eton: he began to take pleasure in reading 
 Virgil tor his own amusement, and not in school hours 
 as a task." He also asked Mr. Bryant,* who was next 
 boy to him at Eton, what sort of a scholar Gray was ; 
 he said, a very good one ; and added, that he thought he 
 could remember part of an exercise of his on the subject 
 of the freezing and thawing of words, taken from the 
 Spectator ; the short fragment is as follows, — 
 
 ' Pluvieeque loquaces 
 
 Descendere jugis, et garrulus ingruit imber." 
 
 In 1734 he was admitted as a pensioner at Peter- 
 House, Cambridge, in his nineteenth year. At Eton his 
 friendship with Horace Walpole, and more particularly 
 with Richard West, commenced. With the latter, similar 
 tastes, and congeniality of pursuits, soon ripened into 
 a very warm attachment — "par studiis aevique modis." 
 The correspondence which passed between them for eight 
 years, and portions of which Mason published, shews on 
 the part of both not only an ardent pursuit of literature, 
 but an extraordinary proficiency in classical knowledge, 
 combined with judgment and taste, remarkable at so 
 early a period of hfe. Nor are the productions of West 
 at all inferior in elegance or correctness to those of Gray : 
 in fact, Mason says, that " when at school. West's genius 
 was thought to be more brilliant than his friend's;" and 
 
 * I have sometimes wondered that the name of Jacob Bryant never occurs in Gray's 
 Correspondence, and that an acquaintance commenced at School, when friendships are 
 warmest and most lasting, did not continue, nor become more intimate, by similarity of 
 studies, particularly as, when Gray wps residing at Stoke, they were neighbours. But Mr. 
 Nicholls says, that Mr. Bryant, talking to him about Gray, seemed to think that he had 
 taken something ill of him, and founded this opinion on some circumstances which 
 appeared to Mr. B. to be frivolous, and which he forgot; but he added, that he never heard 
 Gray mention Bryant but with respect, regretting only that he had turned his great 
 learning into a wrong channel. Mr. Bryant's interesting Letter concerning Gray will be 
 found at the end of this Memoir. 
 
IV LIFE OP GRAY. 
 
 Bryant says, " West was the better scholar." His 
 Latin Compositions, in my opinion, are beautiful in sen- 
 timent and expression, though a few inaccuracies may be 
 detected ; and some of his English verses even Pope 
 would not have disliked to own.* In the Letters which 
 form this early part of the Memoirs of Gray, and which 
 passed between him and his friend, there is a purity in 
 the feeling, and an elegance in the subjects and descrip- 
 tions, which have always made a most pleasing impression 
 on my mind, increased perhaps in no small degree by 
 that tender shade of melancholy, which West's declining 
 health, and other circumstances, threw over the opening 
 prospects of his life. A friend, after a long interval had 
 passed, and indeed during Gray's last years, mentioned 
 the name of West to him, when he looked serious, and 
 seemed to feel the affliction of a recent loss. It is said 
 the cause of West's disorder, a consumption which 
 brought him to an early grave, was the fatal discovery 
 which he made of the treachery of a supposed friend, and 
 the viciousness of a mother whom he tenderly loved. 
 This man, under the mask of friendship to him and his 
 family, intrigued with his mother, and robbed him of his 
 peace of mind, his health, and his life. The regret of 
 friendship has been preserved in some affectionate and 
 beautiful lines with which the fragment of the fourth 
 Book De Principiis Cogitandi begin, and which he sent 
 to Mr. Walpole, he says, " for the sake of the subject." 
 
 " Vidi egomet duro graviter concussa dolore 
 " Pentora, 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. 
 *Ew. gr. 
 
 " How weak is man to reason's judg;ing: eye ! 
 
 "Born in this moment, in the next we die : 
 
 " Part mortal clay, and part ethereal fire, 
 
 " Too proud to creep, too humble to aspire, &c." 
 We have often heard these lines receive the high praise of one whosejudgment, knowledge 
 and poetical taste, no one would dispute. 
 
LIFE OF GRAY. V 
 
 " Visa tamen tardi demum inclementia morbi 
 
 ' ' Cessare est, reducemque iterum roseo ore Salutem 
 
 " Speravi, atque una tecum, dilecte Favoni ! 
 
 " Credulus heu longos, ut quondam, fallere Soles. 
 
 " Heu spes nequicquam dulces, atque irrita vota ! 
 
 " Heu mcestos Soles, sine te quos ducere flendo 
 
 *' Per desideria, et questus jam cogor inanes !" 
 
 Though Gray in after-life had many accomplished 
 and attached friends, the loss of West was never sup- 
 plied.* When he removed to Peter-House, Horace 
 Walpole went to King's College, and West to Christ- 
 Church, Oxford. From this period the life of the poet is 
 conducted by his biographer Mr. Mason through the 
 medium of his Letters. From these we gain no informa- 
 tion concerning his College Studies, which were probably 
 not very diligently prosecuted. Of Mathematics, he was 
 almost entirely ignorant; and West describes himself 
 and his friend as walking, hand in hand, 
 
 " Through many a flow'ry path and shelly grot, 
 "Where Learning lull'd us in her private maze." 
 
 During his residence at College, from 1734 to 1738, 
 his poetical productions are, a Copy of Latin Verses 
 inserted in the Musse Etonenses, " Zuna Hahitahilis ;" 
 another on the Marriage of the Prince of Wales ;+ a 
 Sapphic Ode to W^est ; and some smaller Poems, among 
 which is a translation of part of the Fourteenth Canto of 
 Tasso's Jerusalem Delivered. I give the concluding lines, 
 with which I remember hearing the late Dr. Edward 
 
 * So far as I can judge, the more intimate friends of Gray were Mason, Wharton, Chute, 
 Stonhewer, Brown, Nicholls. He was acquainted with Hurd, but not intimate ; and the 
 name of one friend drops off in the correspondence. Mr. Stonhewer, I think, received his 
 rents for his London houses, and Mr. Nicholls was much younger, and a late acquaintance. 
 When at College, the intimacy between Gray, Walpole, West, and Asheton, was called the 
 'Quadruple Alliance,' and they passed under the names of Tydeus, Orosmades, Almanzor, 
 and Plato. For an account of Asheton, see Aldine Ed. vol. I. p. iii. 
 
 t The twelfth line of this poem is not metrical— 
 
 " Irasque, insidiasque, et taciturn sub pectore vulnus ;" 
 but it stands so in the original Edition. 
 
VI LIFE OF GRAY. 
 
 Clarke, when Professor of Mineralogy, finish one of his 
 Lectures, and rest on the beautiful expression of the last 
 line with peculiar enunciation ; — 
 
 ' ' Here gems break through the night with gUtt'ring beam, 
 " And paint the margin of the costly stream ; 
 '' All stones of lustre shoot their vivid ray, 
 " And mix attempered in a various day : 
 " Here the soft Emerald smiles, of verdant hue, 
 " And Rubies flame, vidth Sapphire's heav'nly blue ; 
 "The Diamond there attracts the vrond'rous sight, 
 " Proud of its thousand dies and luxury of light." 
 
 JEt. 22. 
 
 In 1739, at the request of Horace Walpole, Gray 
 accompanied him in his travels abroad ; and from his 
 Letters to West, and his OM^n family, we have a tolerably 
 accurate account of his pursuits. Mason says, " He 
 catalogued and made occasional short remarks on the 
 pictures which he saw. He wrote a minute description 
 of every thing he saw in his toui' from Rome to Naples, 
 as also of the environs of Rome^ Florence, &c. They 
 abound with many uncommon remarks and pertinent 
 classical quotations."* Most of his journals and col- 
 lections I have had an opportunity of seeing, and I 
 printed his "Criticisms on Architecture and Painting, &c. 
 during a Tour in Italy," which shew at once the great 
 attention he paid to the subject, and an extraordinary 
 knowledge of ancient and modern art at so early a period 
 of life. At Florence he made a collection of Music, 
 chiefly embracing the works of Cimarosa, Pergolesi, and 
 the old Italian masters, with notices also of the chief 
 singers of the time, and the operas in which they 
 
 * These remarks came into possession of his Mend Mr. Chute, of the Vine, in Hampshire, 
 and were probably given to him by Gray. Tliey are printed in the fourth volume of the 
 Aldine Edition of Gray's Poems. Others of the same kind I also possess. There is in 
 MS. in my nossession a copy of the Wilton Gallery, very amusing, and tilled with critical 
 Remarks '~y Gray on the Statues ; and I have also his Criticisms on the Pictures then in 
 Kensington Palace. The only collection he himself made in works of art was in prints. 
 
LIFE OF GRA,Y. VU 
 
 appeared, and the arias they sung.* His Collection of 
 Engravings also is still in existence : at the bottom of 
 each he had written an account of the picture and the 
 engraver, with a reference to the work of art that 
 describes it. T do not know any branch of the Fine 
 Arts which escaped his observation, or in which he was 
 not a proficient. 
 
 In May, after a visit to the Frascati, and the cascades 
 of Tivoli, he sent his beautiful Alcaic Ode to West, and 
 afterwards his Poem on the Gaurus. He also commenced 
 his Latin Poem, De Principiis Cogitandi. He then set 
 oflFwith Walpole, on the 24th April, 1741, for Bologna 
 and Reggio, at the latter of which towns a serious 
 difference took place between them, and they parted. 
 The exact cause of this quarrel has never been ascertained. 
 I have been told, on what appears good authority, that 
 Walpole, suspecting Gray of having written home some- 
 thing to his disadvantage, broke the seal of a Letter. 
 But the matter will never be entirely cleared up. Mason 
 says, that Walpole enjoined him to charge him (Walpole) 
 with the chief blame of the quarrel, confessing that more 
 attention, and complaisance, and deference to a warm 
 friendship, superior judgment, and prudence might have 
 prevented a rupture. And after Gray's death he also 
 wrote to the same person ; " I am sorry I had a fault 
 towards him. It does not wound me to own it ; and it 
 must be believed when I allow it, that not he, but I 
 myself was in the wrong." Such is Walpole's account. 
 When Mr. Nicholls once endeavoured to learn from Gray 
 his account of the difference, he said, " Walpole was the 
 son of the first Minister, and you may easily conceive 
 that on this account he might assume an air of superiority, 
 or do and say something which perhaps I did not bear 
 
 * These books of Music were in six large volumes, and were sold at the sale of his 
 Library in 1845, 
 
via LIFE OF GRAY. 
 
 as well as I ought." Mr. Bryant's opinion, which is 
 worthy of attention, will be found in his Letter. I think 
 the following passage, in a Letter from Walpole to 
 Conway, shortly after Walpole returned to England, in 
 1741, is more to his credit than anything else that has 
 appeared relating to this unhappy rupture of friendship. 
 " Before I thank you for myself, I must thank you for 
 the excessive good-nature you shewed in writing to poor 
 Gray. I am less impatient to see you, as I find you are 
 not the least altered, but have the same friendly regard 
 for him as you always had." It will be recollected that 
 Mr. Conway travelled with Gray and Walpole in 1739, 
 and separated from them at Geneva. Certain it is, that 
 the wound of what Johnson calls " lacerated friendship" 
 never healed. Gray never after visited him with cordiality, 
 or spoke of him with much esteem. Mr. Cole says, and 
 his account is supported by Gray's own letters, that 
 " when matters were made up between Walpole and 
 Gray, and the former asked Gray to Strawberry Hill, 
 when he came, he without any ceremony told Walpole, 
 that he came to visit as far as civiUty required, but by 
 no means had he come there on the terms of his former 
 friendship, which he had totally cancelled."* 
 
 When he parted from Walpole, Gray went im- 
 mediately to Venice, and retiu-ned through Padua and 
 Milan, following nearly the same road homewards 
 through France that he had travelled before. He again 
 visited the Grande Chartreuse, the wild and sublime 
 scenery of which had previously been so strongly im- 
 pressed upon him ; and in the album of the fathers he 
 
 * See Gray's Letter to Wharton, from Stoke, Nov. 16, 1744—5. Vol. II. p. 174. Ed. Aid. 
 where his visit of reconciliation is g^raphically described. Their friend Asheton seems in 
 some degree to have been mixed up with it, and with him he appears to have maintained 
 afteiTvards no friendly communications. A friend of mine bought a book at Gray's sale, 
 in which was written ' Donum Amicissimi Hor. Walpole'— but the word Amicissimi was 
 partially erased. 
 
LIFE OF GRAY. IX 
 
 wrote his Alcaic Ode, his first lyrical piece in Latin. 
 When I spent a day at the Monastery, I looked over the 
 album, and enquired anxiously for the original entry, but 
 found that it had long disappeared. The collectors, who 
 like vultures followed the French revolutionary armies 
 over the Continent, swept aw ay every thing that ignorance 
 and barbarity had previously spared. Without entering 
 into any detailed criticism on Gray's Latin Poetry, I may 
 here observe, that if this Ode, or any of Gray's Lyrical 
 Latin Poetry, be examined with a critical accuracy, it will 
 be found often deviating widely from the established laws 
 which govern the metre ; and in the collection of Gray's 
 Latin Poetry which is printed in the first volume of his 
 collected works, I have given, I believe, a tolerably faithful 
 account of the errors which may be found in then). This 
 certainly will impair the pleasure with which a scholar 
 will read them ; but he will still appreciate and admire 
 the fine poetical spirit and picturesque imagery of such 
 stanzas as the following : — 
 
 PrcBsentwrem et conspicimus Beum 
 Per invias rupes, fera per juga,* 
 Clivosque prseruptos, sonantes 
 
 Inter aquas, nemorumque noctem, &c-. 
 
 Gray returned to England in September, 1741, and 
 two months after his arrival his father died, his constitution 
 being worn out by repeated attacks of the gout. To the 
 friend who condoled with Pope on his father's death, he 
 answered in the pious language of Buryalus, — " Genitrix 
 est mihi;" and Gray, in like circumstances, felt no less 
 
 * This second line is very faulty, from the absence of the caasura in the right place Mr. 
 Canon Tate also observes, " that Gray, though exquisite in the observance of the nicest 
 beauty in the Hexameters in Virgil, shewed himself strangely unacquainted with the rules 
 of Horace's Lyric verse. What a pity it is, that the noble, engaging, and pathetic interest 
 of the Ode on the Grand Chartreuse should be interrapted by a line so jarring and bad 
 as the second of these bplow, ' Per invias rupes, &c.' in a stanza otherwise of such first- 
 rate excellence." Vide Obs. on the Metres of Horace, p. 200 : and Aid. Ed. of Gray, pp. 
 191 & 199. 
 
 b 
 
LIFE OF GRAY. 
 
 the pleasure of watching over the happiness of a parent 
 so deservedly beloved by him. With a small fortune, 
 which her husband's imprudence and misfortunes had 
 much impaired, Mrs. Gray and a maiden sister retired 
 to the house of Mrs. Rogers, another sister, at Stoke, 
 near Windsor. But though it is not mentioned by his 
 biographers, I presume that, previous to the family of 
 Mrs. Rogers removing to Stoke, they had lived at Bum- 
 ham ; for Mr. Cole says, in his manuscript memoranda, 
 that " Gray's uncle, Mr. Rogers, lived at a house in my 
 parish, called Cant's Hall, a small house, and not far 
 from the Common." And again, in a note on a passage 
 in the ninth letter of the first section of the life, where 
 Gray says, " I arrived safe at my uncle's," Cole adds, 
 " at Burnham, my living. Mr. Rogers was an attorney,* 
 lived at Britwell, in Burnham Parish, and hes buried 
 in my Church." After his death, it is probable that 
 the family removed to Stoke. The house, which is now 
 called West-End, lies in a secluded part of the parish, on 
 the road to Fulmer. It remained up to a late period in 
 the same state in which it was when Gray resided there. 
 It has lately been much enlarged and adorned by its 
 present proprietor ; but the room called " Gray's" is still 
 preserved;! and a shady walk round an adjoining meadow, 
 with a summer-house on the rising land, are still remem- 
 bered as favom-ite places frequented by the Poet. 
 
 When Gray returned to England, it was necessary 
 that he should choose some profession ; and that of the 
 law was the one which he selected. " Between that," he 
 writes to West, " which you had pitched upon, and the 
 other two, it was impossible to balance long : examples 
 shew me that it is not absolutely necessary to be a 
 
 * Mason therefore is in error, in calling Mr. Rogers a Clergyman. 
 t The room called "Gray*B" is distinguished by a small balcony. 
 
'^«»"»ViC 
 
 GRAY'S RESIDENCE, 
 
 END HOUSE, ST KF.. 
 
 There at tlie foot of yonder nodding beech. 
 That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, 
 
 His listless length at noon-tide would he stretch, 
 And pore npon the brook that babbles by. 
 

 ",(\\s\r"\'^^v/^' 
 
 SUMMER-HOUSE, WEST-END, STOKE. 
 
LIFE OF GRAY. XI 
 
 blockhead to succeed in this profession." As he saw his 
 fortune was so slender as not to enable him to take the 
 usual course of residing in one of the Inns of Court, 
 and yet unwilling to hurt the feelings of his mother by 
 appearing entirely to forsake his profession, he changed, 
 or pretended to change, the line of study, and went to 
 Cambridge to take his degree in Civil Law. " But the 
 narrowness of his circumstances," says Mr. Mason, "was 
 not the only thing that distressed him at this period. 
 He had lost the friendship of Mr. Walpole abroad ; he 
 had also lost much time in his travels, a loss which 
 application could not easily retrieve, when so severe and 
 laborious a study as that of the common law was to be 
 the object of it ; and he well knew, that whatever im- 
 provement he might have made in this interval, either in 
 taste or science, such improvement would have stood him 
 in little stead with regard to his present situation and 
 exigencies." That Gray however had entirely relinquished 
 all thoughts of his profession, seems to appear from a 
 Letter to West ; " Alas ! for one," he writes, " who has 
 nothing to do but to amuse himself. I believe my 
 amusements are as little amusing as most folks.' But 
 no matter : it makes the hours pass, and is better than 
 
 iv afidOici Koi afiovaM Kara^icbvai." 
 
 He now began his Tragedy of Agrippina, which 
 Mason thinks was suggested by a favourable impression 
 left on his mind by a representation of the Britannicus 
 of Racine. His friend objected to the length of Agrip- 
 pina's speech ; and the fragment is now published, not 
 exactly as Gray left it, but as it was altered by Mason 
 from the suggestion of West. The same friend also 
 objected to the style, which he thought too antiquated. 
 " 1 wiU not, he says, decide what style is fittest for the 
 
XU LIFE OF GRAY. 
 
 English Stage ; but I should rather choose one that 
 bordered upon Cato, than upon Shakespeare." To this 
 Gray answered ; " As to matter of style, I have this to 
 say, the lanc/uage of the age is never the language of poetry, 
 excepting among the Fi-ench, whose verse, when the 
 thoughts or image does not support it, differs in nothing 
 from prose, &c." And he then supports this opinion by 
 saying, that all Poets have enriched their language by 
 foreign idioms, expressions, and sometimes words of 
 their own composition and invention ; that Shakespeare 
 and Milton had been great creators in this \vay, and 
 none more licentious than Pope* andUryden. He then 
 gives some instances from Dryden, who is certainly a 
 great master of our poetical tongue, and who abounds 
 with idiomatical expressions ; but such expressions as 
 " museful mopings, foiled doddard oaks,^ retchless of 
 laws'' and many others which he gives, appear to me 
 rather exceptions to the grace and harmony of Dryden's 
 style, than ornaments of it. I also think, that the pro- 
 priety of the introduction of antique expressions, and 
 obsolete words, will much depend on the nature of the 
 poem, and even on the structure of the verse ; and that 
 
 * Some of Pope's expressions, in his attempts to compress his sense, are such as are not 
 warranted by the structure of our languag-e, and cannot be^&pproved ; such as, er.ffr. tssay 
 on Man — 
 
 "Self-love, the spring of motion, acts the soul." ii. 59. 
 nets, for actuates. 
 
 " Say at what part of nature will they stand? " ix. 56. 
 stand, for stop or stati, 
 
 "Thus victor of his health, his fortune, friends, 
 "And fame, this lord of useless thousands ends." Ep. iii. 332. 
 a sinffular expression, ' victor of his health, his friends,' &c. 
 
 " Well-natured Garth inflamed with early praise." Prol. to Sat. 137. 
 for want of the insertion of 'me' after ' inflamed,' the verb is mistaken for the passive 
 voice, and is applieii to Garth himself. 
 
 " What will it leave me, if it snatch my rhyme ?" Imit. of Horace, 77. 
 snatch is put for ' stent fi-om rae, tahe aicay;^ but steal had been used just before. 
 " There ii'-e who have not ; and thank Heaven there are 
 " Who, if they have not, thiuk not worth their care.'' Ibid. v. 262. 
 i. e, think them not worth their care. 
 
 " Whose seats the weary travellers repose ;" i. e. on whose seats. 
 And many others mijht he mentinned in the works of this correct Poet; so. difficult is the 
 art, even to the most skilful workmen. 
 
LIFE OF GRAY. Xlll 
 
 unless used with great caution, and selected with taste 
 and care, they will give the composition the character of 
 imitation, which would be injurious to its effect. The 
 language of Shakespeare may be more picturesque and 
 poetical than that of Addison and Rowe,but the propriety 
 and advantage of adapting it to modern composition does 
 not appear to me necessarily to follow. 
 
 Mason, in a note on this passage of the Letters, 
 supports Gray's opinion, and considers ' that following 
 these rules will prevent our poetry from falling into 
 insipidity;' as if fine thoughts and poetical imagery, 
 however expressed, could be insipid. But Mason's own 
 poetry was formed on this model, and its artificial 
 character, and flowery and redundant expressions, were 
 the necessary results. In some correspondence between 
 Gray and Mason, which I possess in manuscript, the 
 former very severely criticized the artificial structure of 
 Mason's poetry. He says, "Pray have done with 'pil'd 
 stores, and coral floors,' "&c. And of another poem, he 
 observes, " The line which I like best in your sonnet is 
 the simplest — ' So to beguile my solitary way.'* It looks 
 as if you could live at Aston, which is not true ; but 
 that's not my affair." If I recollect rightly, there is but 
 one line in the Elegy on Lady Coventry which he seemed 
 much to approve, and that was one in which the thought 
 and expression were most easy, natural and just. "Come 
 here, he adds, and I will read and criticize 
 
 Your amorous ditties all a winter's day." 
 
 Gray in his academical leisure employed himself 
 very diligently in the perusal of the ancient authors. He 
 mentions that he is reading Thucydides, Theocritus, and 
 Anacreon. He translated some parts of Propertius,t 
 
 * MS. Letter. 
 
 t This he sent to West, May 8, 1736, with a Letter bej^inning— *' My letter enjoys itself 
 before it is opened, in imag;ining the confusion you'll be-in, when you hear that a coach 
 and six has stopped at Christ Church gates, and desires to speak with you," &c. (.MS.) 
 
XIV LIFE OF GRAY. 
 
 wrote an Heroic Epistle in Latin, and in the summer 
 vacation, when he retired to Stoke, sent his " Ode to 
 Spring" to West ; but this letter did not arrive in Hert- 
 fordshire till after the death of his beloved friend. West 
 died soon after his Letter to Gray which concludes- - 
 Vale et vive paulisper cum vivis ; " so little, says Mason, 
 was this amiable youth then aware of the short time that 
 he himself would be numbered among the hving."* 
 
 I shall here insert a very judicious criticism by the 
 lateLordGrenville,on Johnson's censure of the expression, 
 in the "Ode to Spring," of '/^o;?2Vfi? spring ;' particularly as 
 the Book in which it appeared was only privately printed, 
 and consequently is known but to a few readers :t — 
 " ' There has of late arisen, says Johnson in the life of 
 ' Gray, a practice of giving to adjectives derived from 
 ' substantives the termination of participles, such as the 
 ' cultured plain, the daisied bank ; but T am sorry to see 
 'in the lines of a Scholar like Gray — the honied spring !' 
 A scholar like Johnson might have remembered, that 
 mellitus is used by Catullus, Cicero, and Horace, and 
 that /io«2W itself is found both in Shakespeare and Milton. 
 But to say nothing of the general principles of all lan- 
 guages, how could the writer of an English Dictionary 
 be ignorant, that the ready conversion of our substantives 
 into verbs, participles, and participial adjectives, is of 
 the very essence of our tongue, derived to it from its 
 
 * West resided at Pope's, near Hatfield, and was buried in the chancel of Hatfield 
 Church. He died June 4th, 1742, in the 26th year of his age. His poems have never been 
 fully collected. 1 find among; Gray's Manuscript Papers a list of them, made out I think 
 in Mason's writing; and there is another among; the MSS. at Pembroke College. See in 
 a Note to the Life of Gray in the .Vld. Ed. Vol. I. p. xvi. an account of them more com- 
 plete than any previous one. Mr. Chalmers omitted his name entirely in his Kdition of 
 the British Poets. The foiii- concluding lines of the Sonnet on the Death of West are as 
 tender and elegant in expression as the opening quatrain appears to me defective :— 
 '* The fields to all their wonted tribute bear ; 
 
 " To warm their little loves the birds complain : 
 " 1 fruitless mourn to him, that cannot hear : 
 
 *' And weep the more, because I weep in vain." 
 
 t See Lord Gi'enville's i\ug<ii Metrictje, 4to. 
 
LIFE OF GRAY. XV 
 
 Saxon origin, and a main source of its energy and rich- 
 ness ? First — In the instances of verbs and participles, 
 this is too obvious to be dwelt upon for a moment. Such 
 verbs as to plough, to witness, to sing, to ornament, together 
 with the participles regularly formed from them, are 
 among the commonest words in our language. Shakespeare, 
 in a ludicrous but expressive phrase, has converted even 
 a proper name into a participle of this description : 
 "Petruchio, he says, is Kated." The epithet of a hectoring 
 fellow is a more familiar instance of a participle similarly 
 formed, though strongly distorted in its use to express 
 menacing, almost the opposite of its original. 
 
 " 'iindly. These participles of verbs thus derived, like all 
 other participles when used to denote habitual attributes, 
 pass into adjectives. Winged, feathered, thatched, painted, 
 and innumerable others, are indiscriminately used in both 
 these forms, according to the construction of the sentence 
 and its context. And the transition is so easy, that in 
 many passages it may be doubted to which of these two 
 parts of speech such words should properly be referred. 
 
 •' 2)rdli/. Between these participial adjectives, and those 
 which Johnson condemns, there is the closest analogy. 
 Both are derived from substantives, and both have the 
 termination of participles. The latter, such words, for 
 instance, as honied, daisied, tapestried, slipper d, and the 
 like, differ from the others only in not being referable to 
 any yet established verb ; but so little material is the 
 difference, that there is hardly one of these cases, in 
 which the corresponding verb might not, if it were 
 wanted, be found and used in strict conformity with the 
 genius of our language. Sugared is an epithet frequent 
 in our ancient poetry, and its use was probably anterior 
 to that of the verb, of which it now appears to be a 
 participle ; but that verb has since been fully adopted in 
 
XVI LIFE OF GRAY. 
 
 our language. We now suyar our cups, as formerly our 
 ancestors spiced and drugged them ; and no reason can 
 be assigned, why, if such was our practice, we might not 
 also honey them, with equal propriety of speech. 
 
 " Uhly. On the same analogy, we form another nume- 
 rous and very valuable class of adjectives, compound 
 epithets, derived like the others from substantives, and 
 like them terminating as participles, but having prefixed 
 to them the signification of some additional attribute. 
 Such are, in common speech, four-footed, open-hearted, 
 short-sighted, good-natured, and the like. In Poetry we 
 trace them from the well-envy)ied frankelein of Chaucer, 
 through the most brilliant pages of all his successors, 
 to the present hour. What readers of Shakespeare and 
 Milton need to be reminded of even-handed, high-fighted, 
 trumpet-tongued ; or oi full-voiced, flowery-hnitied, and 
 fiery -wheeled? All these expressions, and beautiful com- 
 binations, Johnson's canon would banish fi-om our lan- 
 guage. The criticism therefore recoils on himself. The 
 Poet has followed the usage of his native tongue, and the 
 example of its best masters. The Grammarian appears 
 unacquainted both with its practice and its principles. 
 The censure seems only to betray the vile passions,* 
 which in a very powerful and well-intentioned, but a 
 very ill-regulated mind, the success of a contemporary 
 had been permitted to excite. The true spirit indeed of 
 this criticism appears with no less force in what almost 
 immediately follows, when Johnson attempts to ridicule 
 
 * Compare Ihe followini passage from another writer, on the same person and subject : 
 **J|fo myself, much as I admire his great and various merits, both as a critic and a -writer, 
 human nature never appears in a more humiliating form, than when 1 read his '* Lives of 
 the Poets," a performance which exhibits a more faithful, expressive, and curious picture 
 of the author, than all the portraits attempted by his biographer ; and which, in this point 
 of view, compensates fully, by the moral lesson it may suggest, for the critical errors 
 which it sanctions. The errors alas ! are not such as any one who has perused his imita- 
 tions of Juvenal can place to the account of a bad taste, but such as had their root in 
 weaknesses, which a noble mind would be still more unwilling to acknowledge." See 
 D. Ste^Yart's Philosophical Essay, 4to. p. 491. ^ 
 
irn^/i- 
 
 Eton; TUblishci liyTi P.mKams 1851. 
 
LIFE OF GRAY. XVll 
 
 to ridicule a passage, which few other men have read 
 without dehght, — Gray's beautiful invocation of the 
 Thames in the " Ode on Eton College ;" ' Say Father 
 Thames,' &c. " This is useless," he says, " and puerile : 
 Father Thames had no better means of knowing, than 
 he himself !" He forgets his own address to the Nile, in 
 Rasselas, for a purpose very similar ; and he expects his 
 readers to forget one of the most affecting passages in 
 Virgil. Father Thames might well know as much of the 
 sports of boys, as the great Father of Waters knew of 
 the discontents of men, or the Tiber itself of the designs 
 of Marcellus." 
 
 I would not violate that reverence due to so great a 
 man as Dr. Johnson ; but I must believe that very un- 
 deniable prejudice existed in his mind vsdth regard to 
 Gray, though how it arose I am at a loss to say. " Sir, 
 he is a dull man," he said to a friend, "in every way : he 
 is dull in writing, and dull in conception." All that I 
 shall say to this extraordinary assertion is, that the public 
 voice has acquitted the poet of dulness, for no quality is 
 less easily pardoned ; and as to his Letters, they abound 
 in humour more than those of any other writer in this 
 country. I speak of his original and authentic corres- 
 pondence, of which I have had the opportunity of seeing 
 nearly the whole that exists ; for Mason has in fact, with 
 a timid and most unnecessary circumspection, omitted 
 much of the wit and humour, as he himself owns, 
 " because, from their personalities, or from some other 
 local circumstances, they did not seem so well adapted to 
 hit the public taste." 
 
 In the autumn of 1742 Gray composed " Th Ode 
 on a Distant Prospect of Eton College,"* and " T/ie Hymn 
 
 * The Ode on Eton College was first published in folio, in 1747, and appeared again in 
 Dodsley's Collection, Vol. II. p. 267, in which the name of the author of the Hymn to 
 
XVlll LIFE OF GRAY. 
 
 to Adversity .-" the " Elegy in a Country Church-yard*' 
 was also commenced. We have heard the expression in 
 the twelfth line of the first Ode, 
 
 "Ah ! fields belov'd in vain," 
 
 considered as obscure, and not easily interpreted ; but 
 the Poem is written in the character of one who con- 
 templates this life as a scene of misfortune and sorrow, 
 
 "Avdpa}VO<; iKavi) Trpotpdcn'i el<; to hv(7TV')(eiv, 
 
 from whose fatal power the brief sunshine of youth is 
 supposed to be exempt. The fields are " beloved" as the 
 scene of youthful pleasures, and as afibrding the promise 
 of happiness to come ; but this promise never was fulfilled. 
 Fate, which dooms man to misery, soon over-clouded 
 these opening prospects of delight. That is " in vain be- 
 loved," which does not realize the expectations it held out. 
 No fruit, but that of disappointment, has followed the 
 blossoms of a thoughtless hope. The happiness of yoiith 
 must be pronounced imperfect, when not succeeded by 
 the prosperity of future life, which, according to the poet, 
 Fate has decreed to man : for this " youthful progeny" 
 is described as sporting on the brink of misery. The 
 "murderous band," the ministers of misfortune, are 
 already in ambush to seize their little victims ; but a 
 httle period now of thoughtless joy is allowed to them, 
 and then they will become a prey to those passions which 
 are the vultures that tear the mind, and those diseases 
 which are the painful family of death. Thefekk there- 
 fore, which are the brief abode of youthful sports, are " in 
 vain beloved," as having promised happiness, which, from 
 the very nature of man, and the tenure by which he 
 
 Adversity first appeared, Dodsley, Vol. IV. together with the 'E]e^; and not, as Mason 
 says, with the three foregoing Odes, which are printed in the second volume. In Mason's 
 selection the Hymn is called an Ode, hut the title Hymn is given by the author. The 
 motto from ^Eschylus is not in Uodsley. The " Ode on Spring" appeared in Dodsley's 
 Collection. Vol. II. p. 27, under the simple title of Ode. Dr. Joseph Warton informs us 
 that little or no notice was tal(en of this Ode on Eton College on its first appearance. 
 
LIFE OF GRAY. XIX 
 
 holds his being, could not be realized. Such is the 
 interpretation which I give to the line. I shall only 
 further observe, that the repetition thrice of the word 
 shade in the opening lines is very ungraceful ; and that 
 " to chase the rolling circle's speed" seems to me both 
 an incorrect expression, and ungrammatical cu'cumlocu- 
 tion. We neither call a hoop a " circle," nor do we speak 
 of " chasing a speed."* Some parts of the Ode however, 
 both in the nature of the thought, and simphcity of ex- 
 pression, are exquisitely beautiful : and similar praise may 
 be given to the last stanza of the " Hymn to Adversity!' 
 It will be observed by those who read the Lyric Poetry 
 with the careful attention which, for the high excellence, 
 it deserves, that in the rhymes they are unusually faulty 
 and succinct. This defect was acknowledged and lamented 
 by Gray ; for in one of his unpublished letters he says, 
 that he endeavoured to give his language that clear, 
 concise, and harmonious structure, which is suited to 
 Lyric Poetry ; but he was always impeded by the diffi- 
 culty of rhyming in these short measures. He seems to 
 have considered accuracy of rhyme of inferior consequence 
 to propriety and beauty of expression ; and that such was 
 the difficulty of moulding our poetical language, when the 
 rhyming sound, or consonance, recurs so frequently, that 
 its perfect accuracy is not attainable. 
 
 Gray's residence at Cambridge was now continued, 
 not from any partiality to the place, but partly from the 
 scantiness of his income, which prevented his living in 
 London ; and partly no doubt for the convenience which 
 its libraries afforded, f Original composition he almost 
 
 * In the original Manuscript the linp stood, 
 
 *' To chase the hoop's elusive speed ;" 
 which no doubt was altered on account of the word elusive. In another Manuscript of 
 Gray's writinj; of the same Ode, the 32rid line is, 
 
 •* Full many a smiling race ;" 
 instead of spriglitli/. 
 
 t Dr. Parr thinks that Gray's fixing his residence at the University, ■ in which place he 
 adhered so steadily and long,' the scantiness of his tbrtune, the love of books, and the easy 
 
XX • LIFE or GRAY. 
 
 entirely neglected ; but he was diligently employed in a 
 regular and very constant perusal of the Greek and Latin 
 authors ; so that in six years he had read all the writers 
 of eminence in those languages, digesting and examining 
 their contents, marking their peculiarities, and noting their 
 corrupt and difficult passages. Many of these learned 
 and critical common-place books exist in the Library 
 of Pembroke College ; many others I have seen, all 
 shewing very curious and accurate scholarship, particu- 
 larly those on the Greek Historians and Orators ; and all 
 written with a delicacy and accuracy of penmanship 
 scarcely inferior to the productions of the press. He 
 formed for his own instruction a collection of Greek 
 Chronology, which extended from the 30th to the 110th 
 Olympiad, a period of 332 years, and which is chiefly 
 designed to compare the time of all great men, their 
 writings, and transactions. " I have read," he writes, 
 " Pausanias and Athenseus all through, and ^Eschylus 
 again. I am now in Pindar and Lysias ; for I take verse 
 and prose together, like*bread and cheese." In the 
 margins also of his classical books, various critical notices 
 are inserted ; and I remember many conjectural emenda- 
 tions in his copy of Barnes' Euripides : although critical 
 emendations of the text of the ancient authors was not 
 that branch of scholarship in which he much indulged. 
 To the works of Plato he paid great attention, as may be 
 seen in the extracts from the Pembroke MSS. printed by 
 Mr. Mathias ; and Mr. Carey, in his Translation of the 
 ' Birds of Aristophanes,' has done justice to Gray's accu- 
 rate erudition displayed in his notes on that author.* 
 
 access he had to them in many libraries, will hardly be considered as ' the sole motive.^ 
 But where could he go ? Besides, he had gradually formed out of the general society at 
 Cambridge, an acquaintance with several persons of intelligence and knowledge, and a 
 friendship with a few : 
 
 *' Nee tu credideris urbante commoda vita; 
 '* Qujere Nasonem,— qusrit et ilia tamen." 
 The unfinished ' Hymn to Ignorance' is supposed to have been written in 1742, when he 
 returned to Cambridge from abroad. 
 
 * See Preface to ' Carey's Translation of the Birds of Aristophanes,' p. 20 ; and Notes 
 passim. 
 
LIFE OF GHAT. XXI 
 
 In 1744 the dijBference between Walpole and Gray 
 was, it is said, adjusted by the interference of a Lady, 
 who wished well to both, but with whose name I am 
 not acquainted ; and soon after, as a kind of propitiation, 
 he consented to make Walpole's cat immortal, by his 
 well-known little Poem on her death. In the third 
 stanza, which is the most attractive of the whole, he 
 originally wrote — 
 
 " Two beauteous fonns were seen to glide ;" 
 
 which he afterwards altered to an^el forms : but in my 
 opinion the former reading was far preferable, as the 
 images of " Angel and Genii" interfere with each other, 
 and bring different associations to the mind. , 
 
 About this time he became acquainted with Mr. 
 Mason, then a scholar of St. John's College. He was 
 also a regular correspondent with his intimate and valued 
 friend. Dr. Wharton ; and he seems to have lived on 
 terms of some familiarity with the celebrated Conyers 
 Middleton, whose loss he afterwards lamented. " I find 
 a friend," he says, " so uncommon a thing, that I cannot 
 help regretting even an old acquaintance, which is an 
 indifferent likeness of it." He began also about this 
 time his Poem " On the Alliance of Education and Govern- 
 ment^' but he never wrote above a hundred lines. 
 Mason thinks that he dropped it, from finding his best 
 thoughts forestalled by Montesquieu ; but some time 
 afte'r he had thoughts of resuming his plan, and of dedi- 
 cating his Poem by an introductory ode to Montesquieu : 
 that great man's death however, which happened in 
 1755, made him drop his design finally. But Gray's 
 own account of the matter is far more satisfactory. When 
 Mr. NichoUs once asked him why he never finished that 
 incomparable fragment, he said, " He could not /' and 
 
XXll LIFE OF GRAY. 
 
 then explained himself in words to this effect; "I have 
 been used lo write chiefly Lyric Poetry, in which, the 
 Poem being short, I have accustomed myself to finish my 
 pjirt with care ; and as this has been a habit, I can 
 scarcely write in any other manner. The labour of this 
 in a long Poem would hardly be tolerable ; and if ac- 
 complished, it might possibly be defective in effect, by 
 wanting the chiaro-oscuro"* 
 
 In the year 1749, his "^ Elegy in a Country Church- 
 yard," the finest of all his poems, received his last 
 corrections, was communicated to Walpole, and handed 
 about in Manuscript with great applause. It was so 
 * popular, that Gray expressed his sm-prise at the rapidity 
 of the sale. " It spread, said Mason, at first on account 
 of the affecting and serious interest of the subject ; just 
 like Hervey's Meditations on the Tombs. f Soon after 
 its publication, I remember sitting with Mr. Gray in his 
 College apartment : he expressed to me his surprise : 
 I replied, " Sunt lacrymce rerum, et mentem mortalia ian- 
 ffutit." He paused awhile, and, taking his pen, wrote the 
 line on a printed copy of it lying on the table. " This, 
 said he, shall be its future motto." " Pity, said I, that 
 Dr. Young's " Night Thoughts" have pre-occupied it. 
 
 * On the following couplet I venture to make an observation ; — 
 
 " Witli ^rim delight the brood of Winter view 
 
 " A brighter day, and heav'ns of aznre hue ; 
 
 *' ^ci'nt the tiiir fragrance of the breathing rose, 
 
 " And qua^ the pendent vintage, as it groies." 
 Firsthfy The rose is not the peculiar growth of the southern climate, and consequently its 
 fragrance was not /icrr to the invaders l^econdlfi, Gray has, in taking his picture from 
 Livy, omitted one striking circumstance, which was perhaps of all the most important 
 inducement for the barbaric invasion ; and substituted the fragrance of llowers in its room, 
 a pleasure little attractive to the savage race. The words of the great and picturesque 
 writer are as follow ;— " Earn genttm tradilur fama dulcedine frngum, maxiraeque vini, 
 vovn turn voUiptate cap. am, Alpes transiifse." Lib. V. c. 33. Certainly the attraction of 
 the " golden harvest " would have been greater than that of " the breatlting rose." 
 
 t We may mention as a set-oft" to this general applause, and as a curiosity of criticism, 
 the notice of it that appeared in the Monthly, then the leading Review of the day : - " An 
 Elegy written in a Country Church-yard, 4to. Dodsley, seven pages. The excellence of 
 this iittle piece amply compensates for its want of quantity 11" 
 
LIFE OF GRAY. XXUl 
 
 " So, replied he, indeed it is." He had more reason to 
 think I had hinted at the true cause of its popularity, 
 when he found how different a reception his two Odes 
 had met with.* Gray told Dr. Gregory, " that the Elegy 
 owed all its popularity entirely to the subject, and that 
 the public would have received it as well, if it had been 
 written in prose." With what justice this may be said, 
 regarding the want of poetical taste of that day, we are 
 ignorant ; but the Elegy must be ranked among the 
 most pathetic poems of our language. The subject was 
 judiciously chosen, being one that attracted general inter- 
 est ; and it is adorned also with noble images, and fine 
 poetical invention. I know no poem that was quoted in 
 different works so soon after its publication, as one that 
 had taken its rank at once among the classical productions 
 of the country ; and it has ever held its station among the 
 most popular poems in the language. How long Gray 
 was employed on the composition of it, I do not know ; 
 but it underwent repeated and careful revision. I possess 
 many curious variations from the printed text, taken 
 from a copy of it in his own writing, from which a few 
 may be selected : — 
 
 for, " Molest her ancient solitary reign," 
 it stood, " Molest and pry into her ancii-nt reign." 
 
 for, " The breezy call of incense-breathing morn," 
 it stood, " For ever sleep : the breezy call of morn." 
 
 for, " Or climb his knees, the envied kiss to share," 
 it stood, "Or climb his knees, the coining kiss to share." 
 
 for, " Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest; 
 
 " Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood," 
 it stood, " Some mute inglorious TuUy here may rest ; 
 
 " Some Caesar, guiltless of his country's blood." 
 
 * See Mason's Life of Whitehead, p. 8*. 
 
XXIV LIFE OF GRAY. 
 
 for, "For thee who mindful of the unhonour'd dead, 
 ' ' Dost in these lines their artless tale relate, 
 " If chance hy lonely contemplation led, 
 " Some kindred spirit shall enquire thy fate," 
 
 it stood, " If chance that e'er some pensive spirit more, 
 " By sympathizing musings here delay' d, 
 " With vain though kind enquiries still explore 
 " Thy ever loved hamit — this long deserted shade." 
 
 And many others. Most of them are very improved 
 readings ; and it was certainly in a happy hour that he 
 substituted Milton and Cromwell for Casar and Tvlly. 
 That there are many faulty expressions in it, and even 
 some defective construction, cannot be denied. In the line, 
 
 " Or busy housewife ^?y her evening care" 
 
 is surely an expression quite unauthorized. And the 
 follovFing has always appeared to me to be a very flat and 
 unpoetical expression, 
 
 "Nor you, ye Proud, impute to these the fault." 
 
 Again, 
 
 " And many a holy text around she strews, 
 " That teach the rustic moralist to die." 
 
 As this construction is not, as it now stands, correct, I 
 think that Gray originally wrote " to teach" but altered it 
 afterwards eupJionia gratia, and made the grammar give 
 way to the sound. However, I have no wish to pursue 
 the ungrateful task of such criticism ; and after all, I 
 yield to no one in admiration of the noble spirit and 
 thoughts which animate this beautiful production of 
 genius.* 
 
 * Mason wonders that Gray rejected the following Stanza, which came in after 
 *' To meet the sun upon the upland lawn," &c. 
 
 but I should presume the reason to be, that the observation and languag^e were too refined 
 
 for the character of the hoary swain : 
 
 " Him have we seen the green-wood side alon^, 
 ** While o'er the heath we hied, our labour done, 
 " Ott as the woodlark piped her farewell song, 
 " With wistful eyes pursue the setting sun," 
 
LIFE OF GRAY. XXV 
 
 Gray now superintended an edition of his Works, 
 printed at the Strawberry Hill press, by Mr. Walpole, 
 with designs by Mr. Richard Bentley, the only son of 
 the great Doctor Bentley, and at that time the friend of 
 Walpole. He was a person of various talent and acquire- 
 ments, and of very eccentric conduct and character. In 
 this edition, "The Long Story," a quaint jocose Poem, 
 which he wrote to amuse his neighbours, Lady Cobham 
 and Miss Speed, was inserted.* 
 
 In March 1753 he lost the mother, whom he had 
 so long and affectionately loved ; and he placed over her 
 remains an Inscription, which strongly marks his piety 
 and sorrow ; 
 
 Beside her friend and sister, 
 
 here sleep the remains op 
 
 DOROTHY GRAY, 
 
 WIDOW", THE TENDER MOTHER 
 
 OT MANY CHILDREN, ONE OF WHOM ALONE 
 
 HAD THE MISFORTUNE TO SURVIVE HER. 
 
 SHE DIED MARCH Xl'" MDOCLIII, 
 
 AGED LXXII. 
 
 It is usually supposed that the " Ode on the Progress 
 of Poesy," was written in 1756. From a Letter to 
 
 The other rejected Stanza was omitted, as forrainj too Ion? a parenthesis: 
 " There scatter'd oft, the earliest of the year, 
 " By hands unseen are showers of violets found ; 
 "The red-breast loves to build and warble there, 
 "And little footsteps lightly print the ground." 
 Gray never produced any lines more exquisitely graceful than these. 
 
 * Gray lived in great intimacy with these ladies, his neighbours at the Old House at 
 Stoke. I have seen a MS. Letter from Miss Speed to him, written when he was in London, 
 during the great heat of the summer, inviting him to Stoke, and telling him that " he shall 
 find every thing cool, except his reception." 
 
 The mention of the Old House, the scene of the " Long Story," suggests also the 
 anecdote in the third Stanza,— 
 
 "Full oft within the spacious walls, 
 
 " When he had fifty winters o'er him, 
 " My grave lord keeper led the brawls ; 
 "The seals and maces danced before him." 
 On these lines, see a few observations which 1 printed in the Gentleman's Magazine, 
 June, 1847. Of this house I have seen drawings, and a ground plan, in the possession of 
 Mr. Penn, the late proprietor of Stoke Park. 
 
XXVI LIFE OF GRAY. 
 
 Walpole, it appears that it was at that time finished, 
 except a few lines towards the end. Gray mentions 
 his being so unfortunate as to be too late for Bent ley's 
 Edition,* and talks of inserting it in Dodsley's Collection. 
 In 1754, it is supposed that he wrote the fragment of an 
 " Ode to Vicissitude," as it is now called : the idea, and 
 even some of the lines, are taken from " Cresset's Epitre 
 sur ma Convalescence :" there are some beautiful passages 
 in it ; as, 
 
 " Till April starts and calls around 
 
 " The sleeping fragrance from the ground ; 
 
 " And lightly o'er the living scene 
 
 " Scatters his freshest tenderest green." 
 
 And, 
 
 " The meanest floweret of the vale, 
 " The simplest note that swells the gale, 
 " The common sun, the air, the skies, 
 " To him are opening Paradise." 
 
 And others might be quoted. 
 
 Mason, if he had had proper reverence for the talents 
 of his friend, and could have estimated rightly his own 
 powers, should have left the unfinished fragment as it 
 came from the hands of the artist : Nobis placet exemphmi 
 priscorum, qui Apelieam Venerem imperfedam malueriiiit, 
 quam intec/rmn manu extranea. But he attempted to 
 supply the " ivory shoulder ;" and has produced some 
 lines unusually bad, even for him ; ex. gr. 
 
 * 111 tile very elegant Poem to Mr. Bentley, the last Stanza was imperfect, the cfirnerof 
 the JMS. being; torn otF. Mason supplied what was wanting in the words in the inverted 
 commas ; 
 
 " Enongh for me, if to some feeling breast 
 *• My lines a secret sympathy '* Impart ,■" 
 " And as the pleasing influence "fion^s confesi^*^ 
 "A sigh of soft reflection " heaves *he heart " " 
 To my taste, " heaves the heart," and " flows confest." are not in Gray's style. I think 
 he had then in view Dryden's Epistle to Kneller ; and under the shelter of this supposition 
 I venture on another read ing : 
 
 " Enough for me, if to some feeling breast 
 *' My lines a secret sympathy *' convei) ;'* 
 *' .\nd as their pleasing influence *' is ca-prest," 
 " A sigh of soft reflection " dies away." " 
 
LIFE OF GRAY. XXVll 
 
 " He, unconscious whence the hUss, 
 
 " Feels, and owns in carols rude, 
 " That all the circling joys are his, 
 
 " Of dear Vicissitude." 
 
 Langhorne, in a letter to Hannah More, writes — " I have 
 read something that Mason has done, in finishing a half- 
 written Ode of Gray. I find he will never get the better 
 of that glare of colouring, that " dazzling blaze of song," 
 (an expression of his own, and ridiculous enough,) which 
 disfigures half his writings." Langhorne was certainly 
 right in his judgment, though in the mirror of his 
 criticism he might have seen his own image, not faintly, 
 nor unfairly, reflected. 
 
 Another Ode was also sketched, which might be 
 called the "Liberty of Genius," though some of Gray's 
 biographers have been pleased to call it " The Connexion 
 between Genius and Grandeur." The argument of it, the 
 only part which was ever written, is as follows : " All 
 that men of power can do for men of genius is to leave 
 them at their liberty, compared to birds, that, when con- 
 fined to a cage, do but regret the loss of their freedom in 
 melancholy strains, and lose the luscious wildness and 
 happy luxuriance of their notes, which used to make the 
 woods resound." 
 
 Gray, as Walpole remarks, was indeed in flower 
 these last three years. " The Bard" was conceived, and 
 part of it communicated to Mr. Stonhewer and Dr. 
 Warton, in 1755 ; but it was for some time left un- 
 finished. The accident however of seeing a blind harper, 
 Mr. Parry, perfonn on the Welsh harp, again, he says, 
 put his Ode in motion, and brought it at last to a con- 
 clusion. He submitted it to the opinion of his critical 
 friends. He mentions a remark of Dr. Hurd upon it ; 
 
XXVlll LIFE OF GRAY. 
 
 and the " conceit of Mason," we are told by Walpole, 
 " almost induced him to destroy his two beautiful and 
 sublime Odes." In July 1757, he took his Odes to 
 London to be published. " I found Gray, says Horace 
 Walpole, in town last week -. he brought his two Odes 
 to be printed : I snatched them out of Dodsley's hands, 
 and keep them, to be the first-fruits of my press." 
 Dodsley however afterwards purchased them, and Gray 
 received forty pounds, his receipt of which is now in the 
 possesssion of Mr. S. Rogers. These Odes were not very 
 favourably received by the public ; nor indeed could their 
 very great excellence, the splendour of the imagery, the 
 boldness of the figurative language, the varied harmony 
 of the verse, and the exquisite finish of the diction, be 
 appreciated but by a few. The Reviewers were puzzled 
 in their judgments. The Reviewer of Poetry for ' the 
 Critical,' who was Dr. Franklin, mistook " the ^EoUan 
 Lyre" for the " ^ohan Harp." Mr. Fox, afterwards 
 Lord Holland, said, that " if the Bard only recited his 
 Ode once to Edward, he was sure he could not under- 
 stand it." When this was told to Gray, he said ; " If 
 he had recited it twenty times, Edward would not have 
 been a bit wiser ; but that was no reason why I\Ir. Fox 
 should not." Akenside criticised some of the expressions, 
 but said much more in their praise. Warburton abused 
 those who condemned, without being able to understand 
 them ; and Lord Lyttelton and Shenstone admired, but 
 wished that Gray had been clearer.* One Reviewer 
 said, the Bard was taken from Horace, and advised the 
 Poet in future to be more original. 
 
 * " That Gray was conscious of the fault (ob.<:curity) imputed to Ills Ode "The Bard " 
 is manifest to me from two particulars ; one, his prefixing- to it the motto, <^S>vavTa 
 avviiolaiv the other is, the explanatory nutes which, with great reluctance, he added 
 at last by the advice of his friends, amoiir/ trhom was the wrilcr of the Letter, who drew up 
 an analysisof theOdefor hisownuse, as mentioned in the Life of Gray." See Remarks on 
 be Pursuits of Literatuie, by John Mainwaring, B. D. Margaret Professorof Divinity.p. 19. 
 
LIFE OF GRAT. XXIX 
 
 In the original sketch for " The Bard" the plan of the 
 latter part was somewhat diiferent from its present form. 
 After reprobating Edward for his cruelties, he with pro- 
 phetic spirit declares, that his cruelties shall never extin- 
 guish the noble ardour of poetic genps in the island ; 
 and that men shall never be wanting to celebrate true 
 virtue, and venture in immortal strains to expose vice and 
 infamous pleasure, and boldly to repel tyranny and oppres- 
 sion. But, unhappily for this design, instances of English 
 Poets are wanting, Spenser, it is true, celebrated virtue 
 and heroic valour, but only in allegory. The dramas of 
 Shakspeare could hardly be cited as examples of Poetry, 
 having this great end and noble purpose always in view. 
 Milton, as Mason oh^iex'v es:,censured tyranny and oppression, 
 not in poetry, but in prose ; and then there only remained 
 Dryden, Pope, and Addison, whose writings were little 
 suited to his purpose. Therefore towards the conclusion 
 he was obliged to change his plan, and praise Spenser 
 for his allegory; Shakespeare, for his power of moving the 
 passions ; and Milton, for his Epic excellence. Gray told 
 Mason, that he was well aware of many weakly tilings 
 towards the conclusion, but hoped the end itself would do. 
 
 With regard to the form of the Stanzas in which 
 these Odes are composed, Gray considered, that that 
 used by some of our older poets, as Cowley and his 
 followers, was too long; and that the proper length 
 should be governed by this rule, that the ear should be 
 able to keep in its memory the sound of every correspond- 
 ing rhyme.* 
 
 It will not be without interest, if we turn for a 
 moment from the direct narrative to one of Gray's Letters, 
 
 * In Dryden's Alexander's Feast, a few of the lines have no corresponding rhyme, which 
 most likely escaped the Poet in the process of composition. 
 
XXX LIFE OF GRAY. 
 
 which is not to be found in Mason's Memoirs of him ; 
 and ascertain what is the estimation in which he held the 
 talents of his poetical contemporaries. Dodsley's volumes 
 had been published a few years before, in which many 
 of their celebrated^compositions are to be found. " To 
 begin, he writes, with Mr. Tickell. This is not only a 
 State Poem (my ancient aversion,) but a State Poem on 
 the Peace of Utrecht. If Mr. Pope had written a 
 panegyric on it, one would hardly have read him with 
 patience. But this is only a poor short-winded imitator 
 of Addison,* who had himself not above three or four 
 notes in poetry ; sweet enough indeed, like those of a 
 German flute, but such as soon tire and satiate the ear, 
 with their frequent return. TickeU has added to this a 
 great poverty of sense, and a string of transitions that 
 hardly become a school-boy : however, I forgive him for 
 the sake of his Ballad, which I always thought the 
 prettiest in the world, f All the verses of Mr. Green 
 have been printed before i there is a profusion of wit 
 everywhere : reading would have formed his judgment, 
 and harmonized his verse ; for even his wood-notes often 
 break out in strains of real poetry and music. The 
 " School-Mistress" is excellent in its kind, and masterly ; 
 and "London" is one of those few imitations that have 
 all the ease and spirit of the original. The same man's 
 verses at the opening of the Garrick Theatre are far from 
 bad. Mr. Dyer has more of poety in his imagination 
 than almost any of our men here, but rough and inju- 
 dicious. 1 should range Mr. Bramston as only a step or 
 
 * The best couplet of Tirkeirs best poem is in liis Eleary on Addison ; 
 " He tauj^ht us how to live ; and oh ! too high 
 *' The price of linowletl^e, tauglit us how to die." 
 Now compare the following ;— " I have taug:ht you, my dear flock, for above thirty years, 
 how to li^e; and I will shew yuu in a very short time how to die." See Anglorum 
 Spccii/um, by G. Sandys, p. 903. So much for originality! 
 t To his fair Lucy, be°;inning 
 
 " Of Leicester, famed for maidens fair." 
 
LIFE OF GRAY. XXXI 
 
 two above Dr. King, who is as bad in my estimation as 
 in your's. Dr. Evans is a furious madman ; and Tra- 
 existence is nonsense in all her altitudes. Mr. Lyttelton 
 is a gentle elegiac person. Mr. Nugent sure did not 
 write his own Ode.* I like Mr. Whitehead's little poems 
 (I mean the " Ode on a Tent," " the Verses to Garrick," 
 and particularly those to C. Townshend) better than any 
 thing I had ever seen before of him. I gladly pass over 
 H. Brown, and the others, to come to you : you know 
 I was of the publishing side, and thought your reasons 
 against it — none. For though, as Mr. Chute said ex- 
 tremely well, the still small voice of Poetry was not made 
 to be heard in a crowd, yet Satire will be heard, for all 
 the audience are by nature her friends. What shall I say 
 to Mr. Lowth, Mr. Ridley, Mr. Rolle, The Revd. Mr. 
 Erown, Mr. Seward, &c. ? If I say, ' Messiem'S, this is 
 not the thing ; write prose, write sermons, write nothing 
 at all ;' they will disdain me and my advice. Mr. S. 
 Jenyns can now and then write a good line or two, such 
 as these ; 
 
 "Snatch us from all our little sorrows here, 
 " Calm every grief, and dry each childish tear." 
 
 I like Mr. Aston Hervey's Fable ; and an Ode, the best 
 of all, by Mr. Mason, a new acquaintance of mine, whose 
 Muse too seems to carry with it the promise at least 
 of something good to come. I was glad to see you dis- 
 
 * The Ode addressed to Mr. Pulteney. The following Stanza was particularly admirtd, 
 and is quoted by Gibbon, in the character of Bmtus ; 
 
 " What though the good, the brave, the wise, 
 " With adverse force undaunted i-ise, 
 
 "To break th' eternal doom ? 
 ** Though Cato liv'd, though Tuliy spoke, 
 " Though Brutus dealt the god like stroke, 
 ** Yet perished fated Rome." 
 Gray's conjecture that Nugent did not write his own Ode seems confirmed, for H. Walpole 
 says, " Mr. Nugent had hitherto the reputation of an original Poet, by writing verses of 
 his own, after he had acqun-ed fame by an Ode which was the joint production of several 
 others. It was addressed to Lord Hath, upon the author's change of religion ; but was 
 universally supposed to be written by Mallet, and improved by Chesterfield." See Walpole's 
 Memoirs, p. 40. 
 
XXXU LIFE OF GRAY. 
 
 tiiiguished who poor West was, before his charming Ode, 
 and called it any thing rather than Pindaric. The Town 
 is more cruel, if it don't like Ladi/ Mary ; and I am sur- 
 prised at it.* We here are owls enough to think her 
 Eclogues very bad ; but that I did not wonder at. Our 
 present taste is 'Sir Thomas Fitzosborne's Letters,'" &c. 
 
 In 1756 Gray left Peter- House, where he had resided 
 about twenty years, on account of some incivilities he 
 met -nTith, which are mentioned in his correspondence. 
 Mason says, that two or three young men of fortune, 
 who lived on the same stair-case, had for some time 
 continually disturbed him with their riots ; and carried 
 their ill-behaviour so far, as frequently to awaken him at 
 midnight. After having borne with their insults longer 
 than might have been expected, even from a man of less 
 warmth of temper, Mr. Gray complained to the governing 
 part of the society ; and not thinking this remonstrance 
 was sufficiently attended to, quitted the College. A 
 month or two before he left, he Avr-ote to Dr. jNIartin ; 
 " I beg you to bespeak me a rope ladder (for my neigh- 
 bours every day make a great progress in drunkenness, 
 which gives me cause to look about me.) It must be 
 full 36 feet long, or a little more, but as light and 
 manageable as may be^ easy to unroll, and not likely to 
 entangle. I never saw one, but I suppose it must have 
 strong hooks, or something equivalent at top, to throw 
 over an iron bar, to be fixed in the side of my window. 
 
 * One of Lady Mary's poetical expressions seems to have been in Gray's memory when 
 he wrote, 
 
 " 'Twas on a lofty vase's side, 
 " Where China's gayest ai-t had dy'd 
 " The azure flowers that blow," &c. 
 Compare one of Lady Mary's Town Eclogues : 
 
 " Where the tall Jar erects its stately pride 
 " With antic shapes, in China's azure dy'd." 
 
 The Toilette. 
 This stately old Jar, or Vase, is now removed to the Earl of Derby's, at Knowsley, from 
 Strawberry Hill. 
 
ENTIiANCE TO I'EMBllOKE COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE. 
 
LIFE OF GRAY. XXXIU 
 
 However, you will choose the properest form, and instruct 
 me in the use of it."* 
 
 In 1757 Gibber died at an advanced age, and the 
 Laureateship was offered by the Duke of Devonshire, the 
 Lord Chamberlain, to Gray, with the privilege of holding 
 it as a mere sinecure. This offer he respectfully declined, 
 and mentions his reasons to Mason. " The office itself 
 has always troubled the possessor hitherto : if he were 
 a poor MTiter, by making him conspicuous ; and if he 
 were a good one, by setting him at war with the little 
 fry of his own profession : for there are poets little enough 
 even to annoy a poet laureate." The laurel was accepted, 
 on Gray's refusal, by Mr. Whitehead ; but Mason was 
 not quite overlooked, for he received a compHment instead 
 of the office. Lord John Cavendish made an apology to 
 him, " that being in orders, he was thought less eligible 
 than a layman." 
 
 In 1758 Gray describes himself as composing, for 
 his own amusement, the little work which he calls " A 
 Catalogue of the Antiquities, Houses, &c. in England 
 and Wales," which he drew up on the blank pages of 
 Kitchen's Atlas. After his death, it was printed in 
 duodecimo, and distributed by Mason to his friends. In 
 1787 a new edition was printed for sale.f 
 
 About this period he was much employed in the 
 study of Architecture. Some of his observations appeared 
 
 * Two iron bars may still be seen at the window of the chambers at Peter-House 
 occupied by Gray, which are said to be of his placing there, for the purpose he mentions. 
 I have been told, on the authority of Dr. Gretton, the Master of Magdalene, (who was for- 
 merly of Peter-House,) that " the yomig men of fortune " were the late Lord Egmont, then 
 Mr. Perceval, a Mr. FoiTCSter, a Mr. Williams, and others ; that Gray complained to the 
 Master, Dr. Law, Bishop of Carlisle ; and he otfended Gray by the little regard he paid to 
 the complaint, and by his calling it "a boyish frolic." 
 
 t I saw the original book at the sale of Gray's library, from which it appeared that 
 Mason, in printing it, omitted entirely the references made by Gray to the works which he 
 used. It had also the advantage over Mason's reprint, of having the Maps of the Counties, 
 
XXXIV LIFE OF GRAY. 
 
 in Mr. Bentham's History of Ely, and in the Gentleman's 
 Magazine for 1764 (April.) A letter from Gray to 
 Bentham is printed, which contains all the information 
 he had afforded to the latter. This was published m 
 consequence of a report, that the whole of the Treatise on 
 Saxon, Norman, and Gothic Architecture, published in 
 the History of Ely, was written by Gray.* 
 
 In January 1759 the British Museum was opened 
 to the public, and Gray went to London,! to read and 
 transcribe from the Manuscripts collected there from the 
 Harleian and Cottonian Libraries. His studies were 
 directed to historical subjects, and not to poetical ; though 
 he says, ' the Library is so rich in Lydgate, Chaucer, and 
 ' the older poets, as might induce him to pursue that 
 ' branch of his Collections.'! A foho volume of his Col- 
 lections were in Mason's hands, out of which one paper 
 alone, 'The Speech of Sir Thomas Wyatt before the 
 Privy Council,' was printed in Lord Orford's Miscella- 
 neous Antiquities, but, as I find from a Note in Dr. Nott's 
 Life of Gray, very imperfectly. " I live, he says, in the 
 Museum, and write volumes of Antiquity. I have got 
 out of the original ledger-book of the Signet, King 
 Richard the Third's Oath to Elizabeth, late calling herself 
 Queen of England, to prevail upon her to come out of the 
 sanctuary, with her five daughters. His grant to Lady 
 Hastings and her son, dated six weeks after he had cut 
 off her husband's head. A letter to his mother ; another 
 
 * See Bentham's Preface to HistoiT of Ely, p. 13 ; and NichoUs' Literary Anecdotes, 
 Vol. III. p. 489. 
 
 t For the convenience of being: near the Museum, he lodged in Southampton Row ; his 
 residence at that time commanding a view of the country, and the Hampstead and High- 
 gate hills. But in general he lived in Jermyn-street, St. James', either at Roberts', the 
 hosier's, or at Frisby's, the oilman's, towards the east end, on diflerent sides of the street. 
 In a Manuscript Letter of his, which I have seen, he mentions half- a- guinea a week as the 
 sum he used to pay for his room, and which he does not wish to exceed. His dinners he 
 used to have from a neighbouring Cotfee House, probably in the Haymarket. 
 
 % From a Manuscript Letter. 
 
LIFE OF GRAY. XXXV 
 
 to his chancellor, to persuade his solicitor-general not to 
 marry Jane Shore, then in Ludgate by his command. 
 Sir Thomas Wyatt's Defence at his Trial, when accused 
 by Bishop Bonner of High Treason. Lady Pembroke 
 and her son's remarkable Case ; and several more odd 
 things, unknovsm to our historians. "When I come home, 
 I have a great heap of the Conway Papers (which is a 
 secret) to read, and make out ; in short, I am up to the 
 ears, &c."* He was, as Dr. Johnson observes, but little 
 aiFected by two "Odes of Obscurity and Oblivion," 
 written by Messrs. Colman and Lloyd, in ridicule of him 
 and Mason. The humour of them, I think, has been 
 much over-praised ; and I agree with Warburton, who 
 in his usual strong language calls them " two miserable 
 buffoon Odes." Dr. Joseph Warton says, that " the 
 Odes of Gray were burlesqued by two men of wit and 
 genius, who however once owned to me that they 
 repented of the attempt."! 
 
 During Gray's residence in London, he became 
 shghtly acquainted with Mr. Stillingfleet, the naturalist, 
 whose death took place a few weeks after his own : and 
 he wrote, at the request of Mr. Montague, an Epitaph 
 upon Sir W. Wilhams, who was killed at the siege of 
 Belleisle. He excused himself at first, on account of the 
 very slight acquaintance he had with the deceased : but 
 on Mr. Montagu's repeating his request, he yielded. In 
 one of his Letters to Mr. Stonhewer, some little time 
 previous, I remember reading, ' I hear that Sir W. 
 Williams is going to risk his fine Vandyck head in the 
 war.' 
 
 * The Conway Papers, in the reign of James 1st. See Walpole's Letters, Vol. V. p. 61 ; 
 and the Letters to Dr. Zouch, p. 251. 4to. 
 t See Warton's Pope, Vol. I. p. 236 ; and also Colman's Works, Vol. I. p. 11. 
 
 e2 
 
XXXVl LIFE OF GRAY. 
 
 In 1762 the Professorship of Modem History being 
 vacant by the death of Mr. Turner, by the advice of his 
 friends, Gray apphed to Lord Bute for the place, but vs^as 
 refused, and the Professorship was given to Mr. Brocket, 
 the tutor to Sir John Lowther. " And so," says Gray, 
 " I have made my fortune, like Sir Francis Wronghead." 
 In the summer of 1765, he took a journey to Scotland, 
 both to improve his health, and gratify his curiosity. 
 He went through Edinburgh and Perth, and staid some 
 time at Slanes Castle, the residence of Lord Strathmore. 
 Thence he took an excursion into the Highlands, crossing 
 Perthshire by Loch Tay, and pursuing the road from 
 Dunkeld to Inverness, as far as the pass of KiUikrankie : 
 then returned on the Stirhng road to Edinburgh. ' His 
 account of his Travels,' says Johnson, ' is, so far as it 
 extends, curious and elegant. From his comprehension, 
 which was ample, his curiosity extended to aU the 
 works of art, the appearances of nature, and aU the 
 monuments of past events.' With the Lowlands he was 
 much pleased ; but the views of the Highlands he said 
 ought to be visited every year. " The mountains are 
 ecstatic. None but these monstrous creations of God 
 know how to join so much beauty to so much horror. 
 A fig for your poets, painters, gentlemen, and clergy- 
 men, that have not been among them."* Here he 
 made acquaintance with the author of " The Minstrel," 
 and recommended emphatically to him the study of the 
 writings of Dryden. He told Dr. Beattie, " that if there 
 was any excellence in his own numbers, he had learnt it 
 wholly from that great Poet ; and pressed him with 
 earnestness to study him, as his choice of words and 
 versification are singularly happy and harmonious." 
 Part of the summer of 1766 he passed in a tour in Kent, 
 and at the house of his friend Mr. Robinson, on the 
 
 + MS. 
 
LIFE OF GRAY. XXXVU 
 
 skirts of Barham Downs. In 1767 he again left Cam- 
 bridge, and went to the north of England, on a visit to 
 Dr. Warton, from whose house he made excursions to 
 the neighbouring places, particularly to Hartlepool, the 
 situation of which he seemed much to like, and where it 
 appears, from his journal, that he spent much of his 
 time in conversation with the fishermen, and in inquiries 
 respecting the names, habits, and history of the fish that 
 frequented that part of the coast. 
 
 He had intended a second tour in Scotland, but 
 returned to London without accomplishing his design. 
 At Dr. Seattle's desire, a new edition of his Poems was 
 pubhshed at Glasgow, and at the^ame time Dodsley was 
 printing them in London. In both these editions, ' The 
 Long Story" was omitted, as the plates from Bentley's 
 designs were worn out, and Gray said, " that its only 
 use, which was to explain the plates, was gone."* Some 
 pieces of Welch and Norwegian Poetry are inserted in 
 its place, of which the ' Descent of Odin is the most 
 popular. 
 
 In 1768 the Professorship of Modern History again 
 became vacant, by the death of Mr. Brocket ; and the 
 Duke of Grafton, then in power, at the request of Mr. 
 Stonhewer, bestowed it on Gray. The Duke, on the 
 death of the Duke of Newcastle, was elected to the 
 Chancellorship of the University. His installation took 
 place in the summer, and Gray returned the favour he 
 had received, by writing his Ode on the occasion, — 
 as beautiful a Poem, it appears to me, as was ever 
 raised by poetical fancy from such apparently inadequate 
 materials. The fourth stanza, in which the founders of 
 
 * Bentley's original drawings for tlie work were sold at the sale of Strawberry Hill, and 
 in tbe volume was inserted a pencil drawing of the Old House, under which Horace 
 Walpole had written, " This is the only drawing I isnow by Gray." 
 
XXXVIU LIFE OF GRAY. 
 
 the different colleges pass in procession before us, like a 
 stream of airy forms, is adorned with the richest fancy, 
 and expressed in the most musical numbers, and varied 
 harmony of verse and language. There is, so far as the 
 verse extends, no Lyric Poem in our language of such 
 rich elaborate chasing, or glowing with such a magical 
 splendour of colouring, and such a fine combination of 
 beautiful images, appropriate words, and exquisitely 
 regulated verse. 
 
 Gray told Dr. Beattie, that he considered himself 
 bound in gratitude to the Duke of Grafton to write the 
 Ode, and that he foresaw the abuse that would be thrown 
 upon him for it, but diQ not think it worth his while to 
 avoid it. Mr. NichoUs tells us, that, during a visit he 
 paid to Gray, the latter offered vidth a good grace, what 
 he could not have refused, if it had been asked of him, — 
 to write the Installation Ode. This however he considered 
 as a sort of task, to which he submitted with great 
 reluctance ; and it was long after he first mentioned it 
 to him, before he could prevail on himself to begin the 
 composition. He says, " One morning, when I went to 
 him as usual after breakfast, I knocked at his door, which 
 he threw open, and exclaimed with a loud voice — 
 ' Hence, avaunt ! 'tis holy ground !' 
 
 I was so astonished, that I almost feared he was out of 
 his senses ; but this was the beginning of the Ode, which 
 he had just composed." 
 
 And here perhaps, as this is the last of Gray's 
 three great Odes, it will be due both to the Poet, and 
 to his admirers, to quote a portion of what Mr. Mathias 
 has observed on Gray's lyrical versification : — " The pe- 
 cuhar formation of the Strophe, Antistrophe, and Epode, 
 was unknown before him ; and it could only have been 
 
LIFE OF GRAY. XXXIX 
 
 planned and perfected by a master-genius, who was 
 equally skilled, by repeated study, and by transfusion 
 into his own mind of the Lyric compositions of ancient 
 Greece, and of the higher canzoni of the Tuscan poetry, 
 " di maggior carmi e mono" as it is termed in the com- 
 manding energy of their language. Antecedent to " Tlie 
 Progress of Poesg" and '' Tlie Bard," no such Lyrics had 
 appeared. There is not an Ode in the English language 
 constructed like these two compositions, with such power, 
 such majesty, and such sweetness ; with such appropriate 
 pauses, and just cadences ; with such regulated measure 
 of the verse j with siich master principles of Lyric art 
 displayed and exemplified ; and at the same time with 
 such concealment of the difficulty, which is lost by the 
 softness and uninterrupted fluency of the lines in each 
 stanza ; with such a musical magic, that every verse of 
 it in succession dwells on the ear, and harmonizes with 
 that which is gone before." 
 
 When the ceremony of the Installation was over. 
 Gray went on a Tour to the Lakes of Cumberland and 
 Westmoreland. His old' friend Dr. Warton, who was 
 to have been his companion in the journey, was seized 
 with a return of an asthmatic fit on the first day, and 
 went home. Gray pursued his solitary tour, and sent a 
 journal of his Travels regularly to his friend. This has 
 been printed. It is written with great simphcity and 
 elegance, and abounds in lively and picturesque descrip- 
 tion. " He that reads his Epistolary Narrative," says 
 Johnson, " wishes that to travel, and tell his travels, had 
 been more of his employment." 
 
 In April 1770 he complains much of a depression 
 of spirits, talks of an intended Tour in Wales in the 
 summer, and of meeting his friend. Dr. Warton, at 
 
xl LIFE OF GRAY. 
 
 Mason's House at Aston. In July, however, he was still 
 at Cambridge, and wrote to Dr. Beattie, complaining of 
 illness and pains in the head, &c. This letter sent him 
 some criticisms on the first book of " The Minstrel," 
 which have since been printed. This Tour took place in 
 the autumn : his companion was his friend Mr. Nicholls, 
 of Blundeston in Suffolk, a gentleman of much accom- 
 plishment, and who was admitted during the latter part 
 of Gray's life into very intimate friendship with him. 
 He was, I believe, the Octavius of the ' Pursuits of 
 Literature.' In May 1771 he viTote to Dr. Warton, 
 just sketching the outline of his Tour to Wales, and 
 some of the adjoining counties. This is the last letter 
 that appears in Mason's collection. He there complains 
 of an imusual cough, of spirits habitually low, and of the 
 uneasiness which the thoughts of the duties which his 
 Professorship gave him, which, after having held three 
 years, he had now a determined resolution to resign.* 
 He mentions also different plans of travel and amuse- 
 ment that he had projected. A few days after, he 
 removed to London, where his health more and more 
 declined. Dr. Gisborne, his physician, advised a purer 
 air, and he went to Kensington : there in some degree 
 he revived, and returned to Cambridge, intending to go 
 from that place to his friend Dr. Warton's, at Old Park. 
 Some Httle time before this, his friend Mr. Robinson had 
 seen Gray in his lodgings in Jermyn-street : he was then 
 HI, apparently in a state of decay, and in low spirits. 
 He expressed regret that he had done so little in litera- 
 ture, and lamented that at last, when he had become 
 easy in circumstances, he had lost his health. 
 
 On the 24th of July, while at dinner in the College 
 
 * Gray began an inaugural "Lecture on History" in Latin, extending to about a couple 
 of pages, which I possess. It is much conected, and he probably had lost his facility, by 
 long disuse, of composing in that language. 
 
EAST-END OF STOKE CHURCH. 
 
 TABLET TO GRAY. 
 
 Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 
 Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; 
 
 Hands, that the rod of empire mig:ht have s'way'd, 
 Or wak'd to ectasy the living lyre. 
 
LITE OF GRAY. xli 
 
 Hall, lie was seized with an attack of gout in his stomach.* 
 The violence of the disease baffled the power of medicine. 
 He was attended very carefully by Professor Plumptree 
 and Dr. Glynn. Afterwards, Mr. Stonhewer, hearing of 
 his danger, brought Dr. Gisborne from London. In the 
 night he was seized with convulsions, and did not always 
 talk coherently. He died about eleven o'clock on the 
 30th, in the fifty-fifth year of his age, sensible almost to 
 the last, quite aware of his danger, and expressing no 
 repining nor concern at the thoughts of leaving this 
 world. He appointed Mr. Brown and Mr. Mason his 
 executors ; and desired to be buried near his mother, at 
 Stoke. Mr. Brown saw his body laid in the grave ; but 
 it is singular, that no tomb or monument has been erected 
 to his memory : a small stone, inserted lately in the wall 
 of the Church, is the only memorial which indicates the 
 spot where the Poet's dust reposes. 
 
 Of Gray's person, his biographer has given no ac- 
 count, and Lord Orford has just mentioned it.f There 
 is a portrait of him at Pembroke College, by Wilson, 
 done after his death, from recollection, which has been 
 engraved both for Mason's, and Mr. Mathias' edition. 
 There is also an etching by Doughty, from a drawing by 
 Mr. Mason ; and there is one also copied by Mr. Henry 
 Laws, a pupil of Bartolozzi : it is perhaps the most correct 
 likeness of all. Dr. Turner, the late Master of Pembroke 
 College, and Dean of Norwich, had two profile heads of 
 Gray, taken by a Mr. Mapletoft, a Fellow of that College, 
 one of which, he said, conveyed a strong resemblance ; 
 but the relievo on his monument in Westminster Abbey 
 
 * Mr. Cary mentions in his Diary, that he conversed with the college servant who 
 assisted to carry Gray from the hall to his chamber, when he was thus suddenly attacked. 
 Memoir of H. Cary, by his Son, Vol. I. p. 223. 
 
 t See Walpoliana, Vol. I. p. 95. I must however observe, that this book is to be 
 received with great caution ; for I have no doubt that the Editor, Mr. Pinkerton, inserted 
 throughout many of his own opinions, and much of his own writing. 
 
Xlii LIFE OF GRAY. 
 
 is the one most to be relied on, and from which Mr. 
 Behnes very judiciously formed the Bust which is now 
 placed in the Upper School-room at Eton. 
 
 Though warmly attached to a few, Gray was very 
 fastidious in the choice of his society ; and in his later 
 years he was afflicted by such painful and debUitating 
 disorders, as to confine him in a great measure to the 
 solitude of his own apartments, or to the occasional visits 
 of a few intimate friends. He mentions in one of his 
 later letters, which I have had the opportunity of seeing, 
 that he could not see to read at all with one eye ; and 
 that he had the musccs voUtantes so before the other, that, 
 if he lived, he had the chance of being quite bhnd. The 
 following description of him, about this period of his life, 
 has been given from personal recollection : — " From his 
 earliest, almost to his latest residence at Cambridge, its 
 usages, its studies, its principal members were the theme 
 of his persevering raillery ; neither could all the pride 
 they felt in the presence of such an inmate prevent on 
 every occasion a spirit of retaliation. Among the older 
 and more dignified members of that body, out of the 
 narrow circle (and very narrow that circle was) of his 
 resident academical friends, he was not, if the truth must 
 be spoken, regarded with great personal respect. The 
 primness and precision of his deportment, the nice ad- 
 justment of every part of his dress, when he came abroad, 
 
 ' Candentesque comse, et splendentis gratia vestis,' 
 
 excited many a smile, and produced many a witticism.* 
 Nay, even a stanza in ' Beattie's Minstrel,' as it stood in 
 the first edition, has been supposed to have undergone a 
 revision, prompted by the tenderness of friendship, in 
 consequenceof the strong, though undesigned resemblance 
 
 * Among those remembered was an Epigram of Smart's, and areparteeof afrait-woman 
 at a coffee-house. 
 
laiiLJiY s \\ ALIi, ri^JIBlIOKE COLLLGE, CAMBIilDGL. 
 
LIFE OF GRAY. xliu 
 
 which it struck out of the Cambridge Bard ; 
 
 " Fret not thyself, thou man of modem song, 
 
 "Nor violate the plaster of thy hair ; 
 " Nor to that dainty coat do ought of wrong ; 
 
 " Else how may'st thou to Caesar's hall repair ? 
 
 " For sure no damaged coat may enter there," &c. 
 
 In his later days, however, and when he seldom 
 appeared in public, due homage was paid to the author of 
 ' The Bard' by the younger members of the University, 
 which deserves to be commemorated. Whenever Mr. 
 Gray appeared upon the Walks, intelligence ran from 
 College to College ; and the tables in the different Halls, 
 if it happened to be the hour of dinner, were thinned, by 
 the desertion of young men thronging to behold him, &c.* 
 The truth is, though Gray remained always at Cambridge, 
 he appeared so httle in pubhc, that Mr. Mathias was 
 there for a whole year without ever having had the 
 opportunity of seeing him. The late Lord St. Helens 
 said, that when he came to Cambridge in 1770, having 
 a letter of introduction to Gray, he received a visit from 
 him. He was accompanied by Dr. Gisborne, Mr. Ston- 
 hewer, and Mr. Palgrave, and they walked in Indian file. 
 When they withdrew, every College-man took off his cap 
 as they passed, a considerable number being assembled 
 in the quadrangle to see Mr. Gray, who was seldom 
 seen. I asked, he added, Mr. Gray, to the great dismay 
 of his companions, " What he thought of ' Garrick's 
 Jubilee Ode' just published ?" He answered, " I am 
 easily pleased." 
 
 The political opinions of Gray, Walpole said he 
 never understood. Sometimes he seemed inclined to the 
 side of authority, and sometimes to that of the people. 
 " I remember in one of his Manuscript Letters his saying, 
 
 « From the Recollections of Dr. Whitaker, the historian of Craven. 
 
 /2 
 
xliv LIFE OF GRAY. 
 
 ' You know how much I dishke the spirit of trade/ which 
 was then rapidly increasing." In conversation, Walpole 
 says, "that Gray was so circumspect in his usual language, 
 that it seemed unnatural, though only pure English." 
 And in a letter to George Montague, he writes, " I agree 
 with you most absolutely in your opinion about Gray : 
 he is the worst company in the world, from a melancholy 
 turn, from living reclusely, and from a little too much 
 dignity : he never converses easily ; all his words are 
 measured and chosen, and formed into sentences." And 
 again ; " My Lady Ailesbury has been much diverted, 
 and so will you too. Gray is in their neighbourhood. 
 My Lady Carlisle says. He is extremely like me in Ms 
 manner. They went on a party to dine on a cold loaf, 
 and passed the day. Lady A. protests he never opened 
 his lips but once, and then only said, ' Yes, my Lady, 
 I believe so.' " Mr. NichoUs, who made a tour with 
 him, as has been mentioned, the year before his death, 
 says, " That with the society at Malvern, he had neither 
 inclination to mix much in conversation, nor much facility, 
 had he been willing. This arose partly from natural 
 reserve, and which is called shyness, and partly from 
 having lived retired in the University dm'iug so great a 
 part of his life ; where he had lost, as he told me himself, 
 the versatility of his mind''' This account is probably 
 true enough, as regards mixed company and general 
 society ; but when it was woiith his while to talk, when 
 his companion was a man of knowledge, and his subject 
 one of interest, we shall find a very different relation of 
 his conversational habits. " Gray's Letters," says Dr. 
 Beattie, " very much resemble what his conversation was : 
 he had none of the airs either of a scholar or a poet ; and 
 though on these, and on all other subjects, he spoke to 
 me with the utmost freedom, and without any reserve, 
 he was in general company much more silent than one 
 could have wished." He writes to Sir W. Forbes ; " I am 
 
LIFE OF GKAT. xlv 
 
 sorry you did not see Mr. Gray on his return ; you would 
 have been mvich pleased with him. Setting aside his 
 merit as a Poet, (which however is greater in my opinion 
 than any of his contemporaries can boast, in this or any 
 other nation,) I find him. possessed of the most exact 
 taste, the soundest judgment, and the most extensive 
 learning. He is happy in a singular facility of expression. 
 His composition abounds with original observations, 
 dehvered in no appearance of sententious formahty, and 
 seeming to arise spontaneously, without study or pre- 
 meditation. I passed two days with him at Glammis, 
 and found him as easy in his manner, and as communi- 
 cative and frank, as I could have wished."* 
 
 Soon after Gray's death, a character of him was 
 drawn up and printed by the Rev. Mr. Temple, of whom 
 the reader will find some account in the correspondence 
 which has been lately published between Gray and Mr. 
 NichoUs. This account was adopted both by Mr. Mason 
 and Dr. Johnson, as impartial and accurate ; and Boswell 
 says, that Mr. Temple knew Gray well. The following 
 is an extract from it : — " Perhaps Mr. Gray was the most 
 learned man in Europe. He was equally acquainted with 
 the elegant and proper parts of science, and that not 
 superficially, but thoroughly. He knew every branch of 
 History, both natural and civil ; had read all the original 
 Histories of England, France, and Italy ; was a great 
 antiquarian. Criticism, Metaphysics, Morals, Politics, 
 made a principal part of his study. Voyages and Travels of 
 all sorts were his favourite amusement ; and he had a fine 
 taste in Prints, Paintings, Architecture, and Gardening.^ 
 
 * See Life of Beattie, by Sir W. Forbes, Vol. II. p. 321. 
 
 t This is very incorrect. Gray always disclaimed any skill in Gardening, and held it in 
 little estimation, declaring himself only charmed with the wilder parts of unadorned 
 nature. See also 'Mason's English Garden,' Book III. 25. It was mountain scenery in 
 which he delighted. 1 remember in one of his MS. Letters, after he had returned from the 
 Highlands of Scotland, his burst of dehght, and saying- " One ought to go there every 
 year." Sir James Mackintosh observed, in a Letter to a friend, " In the beautiful scenery 
 of Bolton Abbey, where I have been since I began this note, I am struck by the recollection 
 
xlvi LIFE OF GRAY. 
 
 With such a fund of knowledge, his conversation must 
 have been equally instructive and entertaining. There is 
 no character without some speck or imperfection ; and I 
 think the greatest defect in his was, an affectation of deli- 
 cacy, or rather effeminacy, and a visible fastidiousness, or 
 contempt and disdain of his inferiors in science. He had 
 also in some degree that weakness, which disgusted 
 Voltaire so much in Congreve. Though he seemed to 
 value others chiefly according to the progress they had 
 * made in knowledge, yet he would rather not be considered 
 merely as a man of letters ; and though vidthout birth, 
 fortune, or station, his desire was to be looked upon as 
 that of a private independent gentleman, who read for 
 his amusement, &c." 
 
 Towards the end of the year 1769, Mr. NichoUs 
 introduced Mr. de Bonstetten, then a youth, in a letter 
 from Bath, to Gray's notice. He resided at Cambridge 
 some months, during which time he enjoyed daily the 
 society of Gray, who appears to have been quite captivated 
 by the disposition and manners of the young foreigner. 
 Sixty years after this time, and just before his death, 
 Bonstetten printed a little volume of his Recollections, and 
 the following very curious account of Gray is to be found 
 in it : — " Eighteen years before my residence at Nyon, 
 I passed some months at Cambridge with the celebrated 
 poet Gray, in almost as much intimacy as I afterwards 
 did with Mathison ; only with this difference, that Gray 
 was thirty years older,andMathison sixteen years younger. 
 My gravity, my love for English Poetry, which I read 
 with Gray, had so subdued and softened him Cswbjugue,) 
 that the difference of our age was no longer felt. I lodged 
 at Cambridge, at a coffee-house close to Pembroke Hall. 
 Gray lived there, buried in a kind of cloister, which the 
 
 of a sort of merit in Gray, which is not generally observed ; that he was the first discoverer 
 of the beauties of nature in England, and has marked out the course of every picturesque 
 journey that can be made in it." 
 
'-v^^-. - 
 
 INNER QUADHANGLE, PEJIBHOKE CdLLEOE, CA JIJllI I IH ; IC. 
 
 (fiiMy's IJiiom ) 
 
LIFE OF GRAY. xlvii 
 
 fifteenth century had not removed. The town of Cam- 
 bridge, with its solitary colleges, was nothing else than 
 an assemblage of monasteries, where the mathematics and 
 some sciences took the form and habit of the theology of 
 the middle ages ; handsome conventional buildings, with 
 long and silent corridors; solitary figures in black gowns; 
 young noblemen metamorphosed into monks, with square 
 caps ; every where one was reminded of monks, by the 
 side of the glory of Newton. No virtuous female cheered 
 and amused the lives of these book-worms in human form ; 
 but knowledge sometimes flourished in the deserts of the 
 heart. Such was Cambridge, as I saw it in 1769. 
 What a contrast between the life of Gray at Cambridge, 
 and that of Mr. Mathison, at Nyon. Gray, in condemning 
 himself to five at Cambridge, forgot that the genius of 
 the Poet languishes, when the feehngs of the heart are 
 dried up. The poetic genius was so extinguished in the 
 gloomy abode at Cambridge, that the remembrance of his 
 poetry was odious to him. He never permitted me to 
 speak to him about it. When I repeated some of his hues, 
 he was as silent as an obstinate child. " Why don't 
 you answer me ?" I sometimes said ; but not a word 
 could I get from his lips . I saw him every evening from 
 five o'clock till twelve : we read together Shakspeare, 
 whom he worshipped, and Dryden, and Pope, and 
 Miltcm, &c.; and our friendly conversations seemed never 
 to be exhausted. I related to Gray the history of my 
 life, and of my country ; but his life was a closed book 
 to me : he never spoke to me of himself. With Gray, 
 between the present and the past, there was an impassable 
 gulf : when I endeavoured to approach it, dark clouds 
 and shadows covered it. I beheve that Gray was never 
 in love ; this is the solution of the enigma : thence re- 
 sulted a misery of heart, which contrasted strongly with 
 his brilliant imagination, and which was the torment, 
 instead of proving the happiness, of his life. Gray had 
 
Xlviii LIFE OF GRAY. 
 
 at once gaiety in his mind, and melancholy in his cha- 
 racter ; but this melancholy was the unsatisfied demand 
 of a repressed sensibility, existing under the Arctic Pole 
 of a Cambridge life," &c. 
 
 This lively and dramatic sketch contains some truth, 
 but the colouring of the whole is exaggerated. That 
 Gray should dislike to converse about his poetry, might 
 possibly arise from the conviction, that a young foreigner, 
 who was not able to write a sentence of English correctly, 
 could not appreciate it ; and there were circumstances 
 also connected with Gray's early life, which were no doubt 
 painful to him to recollect ; and some too, to which 
 he obscurely alludes in his letters, deeply affected 
 him, that were occasioned by the misbehaviour and 
 misfortune of one, whom he had called his friend. 
 Something perhaps might have been misunderstood by 
 the young foreigner, something exaggerated in his state- 
 ment, and not carefully remembered, after an interval of 
 many years. It must also be remarked, that Gray's con- 
 stitution was enfeebled and impaired by constant attacks 
 of hereditary gout, and other painful complaints, destroy- 
 ing his ease, and disordering his frame. He speaks con- 
 stantly of the sleepless night and feverish morning, and 
 seems seldom to have been free from pain, debility, and 
 disease. Expressions similar to the following may be 
 found in many passages in his different journals ; — " In- 
 somnia crebra, atque expergiscenti surdus quidem doloris 
 sensus : frequens etiam in regione sterni oppressio, et 
 cardialgia gravis, fere sempiterna." But there are also 
 many passages in his letters, opening to our view habitual 
 lowness of spirits, or a mental uneasiness, expressing 
 itself in such language as the following ; — " I should like 
 
 to be like , and think that every thing turns out 
 
 for the best in the world ; but it wont do. I am stupid 
 
LIFE OF GRAY. xlix 
 
 and low-spirited ; but some day or other all this must 
 come to a conclusion."* 
 
 It remains now to speak of an intended publication 
 in English Literature, mentioned by Grajr in an advertise- 
 ment to the imitation of the Welsh Odes, which was a 
 ' History of English Poetry.' It appears that Warburton 
 had communicated to Mason a paper of Pope's, containing 
 the first sketch for a work of that nature, and which was 
 printed in ' Ruffhead's Life of Pope.' " Milton," says 
 Dryden, " was the paternal son of Spenser, and Waller of 
 Fairfax ; for we have our lineal descendants and children, 
 as well as other families." On this principle, Pope drew 
 up his little catalogue of the English Poets, and Gray was 
 so much pleased with the method of arrangement which 
 Pope had struck out, that, on Mason's agreeing to pubhsh 
 them, he revised and considerably enlarged the plan. 
 He meant in the Introduction to ascertain the origin of 
 Rhyme ; to give specimens of the Provencal, Scaldic, 
 British, and Saxon Poetry ; and when the difierent sources 
 of English Poetry were ascertained, the history was to 
 commence with the school of Chaucer. It was for this 
 purpose that he wrote his Welsh and Norwegian Odes, 
 and made those curious and elaborate enquiries into 
 the origin of rhyme and metre, which have been sub- 
 sequently printed by Mr. Mathias. He also transcribed 
 many passages from Lydgate, whose merits he considered 
 had been undervalued ; and I possess a character of 
 Samuel Daniel, undoubtedly intended by him for this 
 work, drawn up with great care, and with a critical 
 examination of his poetical beauties and defects. 
 
 * Partly from the " Explanations of the late Archdeacon Oldershaw,"— partly from his 
 unpublished correspondence,— I believe that I am particularly acquainted with those cir- 
 cnmstances that spread a considerable gloom over Gray's mind, and perhaps permanently 
 affected his spirits in the manner in which Mr. Bonstetten has described, but which it is 
 quite useless to draw from the obscurity in which they have been placed, especially as 
 Gray's own character is totally unaffected by them. 
 
 9 
 
1 LIFE 0¥ GRAY. 
 
 About this time however he found that Mr. Thomas 
 Warton was engaged in a similar undertaking; and, 
 fatigued with the extent of his plan, he sent it to him, 
 of whose abilities, from his Observations on Spenser, 
 he entertained a high opinion.* It is well known that 
 Warton did not adopt that kind of arrangement whieh 
 Pope and Gray had recommended, and he gave his 
 reasons for departing from it in the Preface to his History. 
 Gray died some years before Warton's first volume ap- 
 peared. 
 
 From Poetry to Music is a natural transition ; and 
 therefore it may be observed, that Gray's taste in Music 
 was excellent, and formed on the study of the old ItaUan 
 masters, who flourished about the time of Pergolesi, 
 as Marcello, Leo, and Palestrina. He performed on the 
 harpsichord, and sang to his own accompaniment with 
 great taste and feeling. Mr. Cole says, Gray latterly 
 played on the piano-forte, and sang to /dm, but not 
 without solicitation.! 
 
 In his later years he applied himself to Gothic and 
 Saxon architecture, with such industry and sagacity, that 
 he could at first sight pronounce on the precise time 
 when any particular part of our Cathedrals was erected. 
 For this purpose, he trusted less to written accounts and 
 works, than to the internal evidence of the buildinss 
 themselves. He invented also several terms of art, the 
 better to express his meaning on this subject. Of 
 Heraldry, to which he applied as a preparatory science, 
 he was a considerable master, and left behind him many 
 
 * Gray and Mason first detected the impostures of Chatterton. See Archaological 
 Epistle to Dean Mitles, Stanza XI. {This Poem was Masun's writing.) 
 
 t " He has frequently played upon the Harpsichord, and sang to it freely, as frequently 
 latterly on the Forte Piano. His Forte Piano was a present to him from his friend Mr. 
 Stonhewer, which at his death he bequeathed to him again." Cole's MS. Notes. Gray's 
 friend Mr. Nicholls was very musical. Mr. Uvedale Price says, " that Gray was not 
 partial to the music of Handel ; but used to speak with praise of that chorus in the 
 Oratorio of Jephthah, 'No more to Amnion's God and king.'" See Essays on the 
 Picturesque, Vol. II. p. 191. 
 
LIFE OF GRAY. ll 
 
 curious genealogical papers. He told Mr. NichoUs, that lie 
 was deeply read in Dugdale, Hearne, Spelman, and others 
 of that class ; and that he took as much delight in that 
 study, as ever he did in any other. When Mr. NichoUs 
 expressed his surprise to Gray at the extent of his 
 reading, he said, " Why should you be surprised ; for I 
 do nothing else." He said, " He knew from experience 
 how much might be done by a person who did not fling 
 away his time on middling and inferior authors, and 
 read with method. He thought that the abundance of 
 Dictionaries of different kinds was a bad symptom for 
 the literature of the age, because real and profound 
 learning is never derived from such sources, but drawn 
 at the fountain-head ; and they who are content to pick 
 up the scanty and superficial information which can be 
 acquired by such means, have neither the spirit nor the 
 industry to study a subject through, in the original authors: 
 nor indeed have they any further demands on literature, 
 than for a sufficient supply to satisfy their vanity." 
 
 As the life of Gray advanced, it was still marked by 
 the same studious and secluded habits ; but he appears 
 gradually to have left his classical studies, for a more 
 extended circle of reading, including History, Antiquities, 
 Voyages, and Travels ; and in many of the books in his 
 library, as Fabian's Chronicles, Clarendon, and others, 
 the extreme attention with which he read is seen by his 
 various and careful annotations, and by the margins 
 being filled with illustrations and corrections drawn from 
 State Papers, and other original documents. The latest 
 period of his life seems to have been very much occupied 
 in attention to " Natural History" in all its varied 
 branches, both in the study of books, and in the diligent 
 observation of nature. He kept every year a pocket 
 diary or journal, entering daily observations on the state 
 of the weather, on the prevailing currents of wind, or the 
 
 ^2 
 
lii LIFE OF GRAY. 
 
 variations of the thermometer, ^^ith as much attention and 
 minuteness as would be found in a nautical almanack. 
 Other columns contained a floral calendar, a hst of plants, 
 including trees and flowers, in the order in which they 
 awoke to life in the spring, or flowered in the summer 
 months, or decayed with the dying year ; and this was 
 done vnth a patience and minuteness almost incredible. 
 Yet it formed only one portion of the labour bestowed 
 on these inquiries. In his jom-nals, of which I have met 
 Avith several, are accounts of all the Birds, Fish, Insects, 
 Animals, and Plants, seen by him in different localities in 
 his travels, for the most part described in Latin, and aU 
 arranged according to the systematic order of Linnaeus, 
 and that with such laborious distinction, that (as an 
 instance) the plants he saw when staying with jMt. 
 Robinson at Denton, in Kent, are divided into the hiU, 
 field, and those seen by the road-side, or on old walls 
 and ruins. TMien at Hartlepool, near Dm-ham, he records 
 his conversation with the fishermen on some species of 
 fish which he regarded as doubtful, and they are all 
 elaborately described. 
 
 The same kind of Botanical Register he kept at Old 
 Park, and wherever he went; and aU catalogues of 
 Exhibitions and Museums of Natural History inspected by 
 him were noted, generally with reference to the nomen- 
 clature of Linnaeus. But the greatest monument of his 
 talent and knowledge is the interleaved copy of the French 
 Edition of LinncBm^ Systema Xatiirts, which work we are 
 told, during the latter part of his Ufe, was always lying 
 on his table. It is entirely filled both in the margins 
 and in interlineations of the printed text, and also in 
 the blank leaves inserted, viith additions to Linnaeus from 
 other works of travel or science, or with alterations and 
 amendments of his own, especially noting where the 
 
LIFE OF GRAY. liii 
 
 Fauna of Sweden differed from that of England. It is also 
 adorned and illustrated with designs and figures of Insects 
 and Birds, or portions of them, drawn with accuracy and 
 elegance, both in the natural size and magnified. 
 
 This book proves that he had a very profound know- 
 ledge of the whole system of nature, as arranged by the 
 great Swedish Naturalist ; and I have also seen letters 
 from him to different friends, who had sent him some 
 natural productions, as rare birds, fish, &c. giving copious 
 and detailed information on the subject. Occasionally he 
 altered the Latinity of Linnaeus,* and sometimes amused 
 himself in giving the technical descriptions in a metrical 
 form. The following lines express the genuine character 
 of the fifth order of Insects, and are formed chiefly from 
 the language of the Swedish Naturalist. 
 
 Htmenoptera. 
 
 At vitreas alas, jaculumque Hymenoptera caudse 
 FcEmineo data tela gregi, maribusque negata. 
 Telum abdit spirale Cynips, morsuque minatur : 
 Maxillas Tenthredo movet, serramque bivalvem. 
 Ichneumon gracili triplex abdomine telum 
 Haurit Apis lingua incurva quod vindicat ense. 
 Sphex alam expandit lagvem, gladiumque recondit. 
 Alse ruga notat Vespam, caudaeque venerium. 
 Squamula Formicam tergi, telumque pedestrem. 
 Dum minor alata volitat cum conjuge conjux 
 Mutilla impennis, sed cauda spicula vibrat. 
 
 Hemiptera. 
 
 Dimidiam rostrata gerunt Hemiptera crustam ; 
 Fcemina serpit humi interdum, volat sethere conjux : 
 Rostro Nepa rapax pollet, Chelisque ; Cicada 
 Eemigio alarum et rostrato pectore saltat : 
 Tela Cimex inflexa gerit, cruce complicat alas : 
 
 * See instances of this published in Mr. MatMm' Edition of Graij's Works. 
 
liv 
 
 LIFE OF GEAY. 
 
 Notonecta crucem quoque fert, remosque pedales 
 Cornua Aphis caudse et rostrum ; saepe erigit alas ; 
 Deprimit has Chermes, dum saltat, pectore gibbo. 
 Coccus iners caudae setas, volitante marito. 
 Thrips alas angusta gerit, caudamque recurvam. 
 
 Lepidoptera. 
 
 Squamam alee, linguse spiram Lepidoptera jactant ; 
 Papilio clavam et squamosas subrigit alas. 
 Prismaticas Sphinx: antennas, medioque tumentes ; 
 At conicas gravis extendit sub nocte Phalana. 
 
 But Gray's labours are often seen extending even 
 beyond what we must conceive to be the verge of rational 
 inqiiiry, considering the little advantage to be derived 
 from such long and laborious exertions. I possess, among 
 several others of his books, his copy of " Voyage de 
 Bergeron ;" and all through this book, which is a thick 
 4to. volume, he has followed the author in his accoimt 
 of the names and succession of the Persian, Tartar, and 
 Chinese dynasties ; sometimes illustrating, sometimes 
 enlarging his account with the same apparent pains which 
 he had previously taken in his Classical and Poetical 
 studies. As one example of this minute and extended 
 curiosity, Bergeron says, speaking of Bagdo, " second fils 
 de Hoccato- Cham, il fut noye avec un nombre des siens." 
 Gray first adds, " Bagdo was nephew to Oglai. Bergeron 
 is wrong: the drowning took place in 1235, and Bagdo 
 Khan was certainly alive many years after : he died in 
 1256." Again, Bergeron says, " Mango- C/iam fut noye " 
 Gray adds in the margin, " Muncaga, or Mango Khan, 
 was not drowned, but in reality slain in China at the 
 siege of Ho-chew in 1256." Another traveller had said, 
 "The name of this king was Abassidus- Ahmed :" Gray 
 adds, " Ahmed Emir al Mumenin ; this Abassid, sur- 
 named Al-Nasor, was 52 nd Khalifif, but he came not 
 
LIFE OF GBAY. Iv 
 
 to the throne till A.D. 1179 ; so that the Khaliff then 
 reigning must be Hassan-Al-Moothaday, his predecessor." 
 He corrects another statement of the traveller Rubriques 
 thus ; " It was not Bates-Khan, but Jarmagan, Ogtai's 
 general, who defeated Cai Khosru the Second, surnamed 
 Gaiatheddin, the 8th Selginmid Sultan of Asia Minor in 
 1343." And in this manner he has filled the margins 
 of a thick 4to. volume of Oriental Travels with very 
 elaborate annotations, and corrections of the different 
 authors, aU written in the most careful and delicate 
 hand ; and has followed the author through the whole 
 of this elaborate work, employed on subjects so utterly 
 remote from all common curiosity and interest, with the 
 same critical and patient investigation, as if his learning 
 was particularly directed in that channel, or that he was 
 meditating a work on similar subjects. His copy of 
 " Liste des Insedes," which I also possess, is annotated 
 on in a similar way ; and the margin of his copy of the 
 " Historia Animalmm'' of Aristotle, in the edition of 
 Sylburgius, is crowded with notes and explanations. His 
 copy of " Entick's London and its Environs/' in six 
 volumes, 8vo. is full of remarks and corrections on the 
 Architecture, Sculpture, &c. of the different Buildings in 
 the Metropolis ; and there is another copy of the same 
 work in the library of Nuneham, equally full of his 
 observations, from which Mr. Pennant was allowed to 
 take materials for his work. 
 
 One most important branch of study alone passed 
 unnoticed by him, or at least was only casually pursued ; 
 I mean that of Theology -. and it is singular, that in one 
 of his later letters, I found Mason writing to him, " I wish 
 I could get you to read Jeremy Taylor, the Shakespeare 
 of Enghsh Prose." Spenser, Shakespeare, and Dryden 
 were his favourite Poets ; and he also thought highly of 
 Pope. He placed Lord Clarendon at the head of our 
 
Ivi LIFE OF GRAY. 
 
 historians ; and, for style, he thought that of Conyers 
 Middleton much to be approved. Of the ' Clarissa' of 
 Richardson, he spoke in the highest terms; he said, 
 " He knew no instance of a tale so well told ;" and 
 mentioned with the highest commendation the dramatic 
 propriety and consistency of the character, preserved from 
 the beginning to the end, in all situations and circum- 
 stances. He thought Goldsmith a genuine Poet: Gibber's 
 Comedies he considered excellent ; and he said, that 
 " Vanbrugh's Plays were much better than his Architec- 
 ture." 
 
 His French reading was extensive : he esteemed 
 very highly the Dramas of Voltaire and the Emile of 
 Rousseau ; but his knowledge of Itahan Literatiue did 
 not extend beyond the writers of the first class ; for Mr. 
 Mathias says, that Gray had never read Filicaia, Guidi, 
 and the other Lyrical Poets highly esteemed in Italy. 
 In his correspondence, printed and manuscript, many . 
 other literary opinions and judgments will be found, both 
 on the older authors, and on the writings of his contem- 
 poraries. 
 
 But it is time that this narrative should draw to a 
 close : and as Gray's acquirements, however extensive, 
 must be considered secondary to his fine poetical talents, 
 I cannot, I think, form abetter conclusion, than by giving 
 a sketch of the latter, as drawn by Sir James ^Mackintosh, 
 with his usual solidity of judgment, and delicacy of 
 taste : — " Gray (he writes, following some observations on 
 the merits of Goldsmith,) was a poet of a far higher order, 
 and of almost an opposite kind of merit. Of all English 
 poets, he was the most finished artist. He attained the 
 highest degree of splendour, of which poetical style seems 
 to be capable. If Virgil and his scholar Racine may be 
 allowed to have united so much more ease with their 
 
LIFE OF GRAY. Ivii 
 
 elegance, no other poet approaclies Gray in this kind of 
 excellence. The degree of poetical invention diffused 
 over such a style, the abundance of taste and of fancy 
 necessary to produce it, and the art with which the 
 offensive boldness of imagery is polished away, are not 
 indeed always perceptible to the common reader, nor do 
 they convey to my mind the same species of gratification, 
 which is felt from the perusal of those poems, which 
 seem to be the unpremeditated effusions of enthusiasm. 
 But to the eye of the critic, and more especially to the 
 artist, they afford a new kind of pleasure, not incom- 
 patible with a distinct perception of the art employed, 
 and somewhat similar to the grand emotions excited by 
 the reflection of the skill and toil exerted on the con- 
 struction of a magnificent palace. They can only be 
 classed among the secondary pleasures of poetry, but 
 they can never exist without a great degree of its higher 
 excellencies. Almost aU his poetry was Lyrical; that 
 species, which, issuing from a mind in the highest state 
 of excitement, requires an intensity of feeling, which, for 
 a long composition, the genius of no poet could support. 
 Those who complained of its brevity and rapidity, only 
 confessed their own inability to follow the movements of 
 poetical inspiration.* Of the two grand attributes of the 
 ode, Dryden has displayed the enthusiasm, — Gray ex- 
 hibited the magnificence. He is also the only modern 
 Enghsh writer, whose Latin verses deserve general notice ; 
 but we must lament that such difficult trifles had diverted 
 his genius from its natural objects. f 
 
 * In another place, this same writer observes, "The obscurity of the Ode on 'The 
 Progress of Poetry' arises from the variety of the subjects, the rapidity of the transitions, 
 the boldness of the imagery, and the splendour of the language. To those who are 
 incapable of that intense attention, which the liigher order of poetry requires, and which 
 poetical sensibility always produces, there is no obscurity. In ' The Bard,' some of these 
 causes of obscurity are lessened: it is more impassioned, and less magnificent ; but it has 
 more brevity and abruptness. It is a Lyric Drama, and this structure is a new source of 
 obscurity." 
 
 t I don't quite catch the writer's meaning here, for all Gray's Latin verses were written 
 when he was young ; and, from what I have seen, it appears to me, that m his later life he 
 had lost his facility, and perhaps some of his correctness in compositions m that language. 
 
Iviii LIFE OF GRAY. 
 
 " In his Letters has been shewn the descriptive power 
 of the poet, and in new combinations of generally famUiar 
 words, which he seems to have caught from Madame de 
 Sevignfe, (though it must be said he was somewhat quaint,) 
 he was eminently happy. It may be added, that he 
 deserves the comparatively trilling praise of having been 
 the most learned poet since Milton."* 
 
 To what Sir James Mackintosh has observed on 
 Gray's Letters and their merits, I may add, that Cowper 
 (whose own Letters in another style are matchless) says, 
 " I once thought Swift's Letters the best that could be 
 written, but I like Gray's better. His humour, or his 
 vidt, or whatever it is to be called, is never ill-natured or 
 offensive, yet I think equally poignant with the Dean's."f 
 And yet Mr. Mason did not do justice to his friend, nor 
 perform, according to my opinion, the duties of an Editor 
 with the required fidelity. There is not a single letter 
 of Gray's, in the whole volume of Mr. Mason's, printed 
 without alteration of some kind, omission, or transposi- 
 tion. Almost all his humorous anecdotes, and lively 
 stories, and aniusing accounts of public officers, and 
 political characters, are omitted, and passages of Masons 
 own composition are suhstituted in the place. This I dis- 
 covered unexpectedly, when the Wharton Correspondence 
 was entrusted to my care ; and I have found the same 
 system pursued through the other Letters which have 
 since come into my hands, containing those to Dr. 
 Brown, and in the whole volume of Correspondence 
 between Gray and Mason himself. That he was not 
 himself satisfied with his method of systematic alteration, 
 
 whether in prose or verse. However, occasionally to compose in a lan^age that we 
 nndei'stand, and that we love, is a natural desire ; and we may imitate, without the hope 
 of competing with the great masters of Latin song. And such were the rational amuse- 
 ments, in their later years, of two remarkahle pei-sons of the present age, who united the 
 character of the scholar and the statesman, and who preserved the love of their early 
 studies, amidst tlie moi-e onerous duties and employments of their riper years ; I mean, 
 the Marquis of Wellesley, and Lord Grenville. 
 
 * See Life of Sir James ilarliiittoxh. Vol. l\. p. )72. 
 t See Cowjter's Letters, f>i/ Hat/lei/, Vol, U. p. 231. 4to. 
 
LIFE OF GKAY. Hx 
 
 may be seen in a Letter of his to Mr. Nicholls, which 
 I lately printed : " Mr. Mason returns many thanks to 
 Mr. Nicholls, for the use he has permitted him to make 
 of these Letters. He will find that much liberty has been 
 taken in transposing parts of them for the press, and will 
 see the reason for it. It were however to be wished, that 
 the originals might be so disposed of as not to impeach 
 the Editor's fidelity, but that he leaves to Mr. Nicholls' 
 discretion ; for people of common sense will think the 
 liberty he has used as very venial." Mr. Nicholls 
 however did not approve Mason's reasons, nor comply 
 with his request of destroying the original correspond- 
 ence, which has since been printed. When the Wharton 
 Manuscript was returned, it was found that Mason 
 had not only erased many passages, but had also cut 
 others out of the volume. In the Letters to Dr. Brown, 
 innumerable are the various parts completely erased by 
 him; and he has treated in the same way the most 
 curious and interesting of all Gray's correspondence, 
 that vnth himself. It has been said, "that Mason 
 repaid Gray's long friendship and faithful services with 
 an Edition of his Works, so judiciously selected and 
 elegantly arranged, as to put to shame any subsequent 
 attempt of the same nature." He who delivered this 
 opinion had every reason to be confident of its justness, 
 for he had not seen, nor did he know the nature of any 
 of the original materials : and as relates to the elegance 
 with which the biographical narrative is conducted, and 
 the judiciousness with which the outline is drawn, we 
 are quite willing to allow the largest share of praise ; 
 but this same elegance need not have been purchased at 
 the expense of truth : and we naturally expect, that the 
 sacred deposit of the remains of deceased persons, in 
 the hands of a friend, should be treated with a consci- 
 entious delicacy due to its worth. Besides, in his aim 
 at elegance. Mason gave up the power of representing 
 
Ix LIFE OF GRAY. 
 
 the full value of Gray's merits as a letter writer. Of 
 the whole correspondence with Mr. Nicholls, no more 
 than five letters are selected, not more than a quarter of 
 those written to Dr. Wharton, and very small parts of 
 those that passed between Dr. Brown and himself. What 
 would have been said, had the Sevignl or Walpole 
 Correspondence been treated in the same manner ?* 
 
 We now conclude with the following interesting 
 Letter from the late Mr. Jacob Bryant, containing his 
 recollections of Gray when he was at Eton vdth him, 
 and which supplies several particulars overlooked by 
 Mason, which all admirers of Gray must be grateful to 
 receive : — 
 
 Dear SiR,t 
 
 As the memory of Mr. Gray is with you an article of 
 much regard, and as every thing that can conduce to the 
 knowledge of his life and character must be acceptable, I 
 will take the liberty to lay before you a portion of intelligence, 
 which I believe has never been fully given, and which can 
 now only be afforded by myself. In this narrative will be 
 included an answer to that question which you were pleased 
 to desire me to explain. 
 
 My first acquaintance with Mr. Gray and his friend, 
 Mr. Horatio Walpole (the late Lord Orford,) was at the latter 
 end of the year 1729, at which time I came first to Eton. It 
 was my fortune to be placed in the fourth form, nearly at the 
 same distance from each, — the former being about four or five 
 boys below, and Mr. Walpole as many above me. Hence I 
 was well acquainted with them both, but not with that inti- 
 macy which subsisted between these two. 
 
 At this early time of which I speak, Mr. Gray was in 
 
 * The Quarterly Reviewer, Dr. Whitaker, mentions the faults^ arisina: principally from 
 want of erudition, that are to be found in Mason's volume. The following is a curious 
 specimen ; Gray's line,— 
 
 * Et modo rata mcda vellere poma manu." 
 Mason's note,—' So the original : there is a peculiar obscurity in the line, arising from 
 the synonyms mala and poma.' ! ! ! 
 
 t It does not appear to whom this Letter was addressed, but probably to some Person 
 who intended to publish memoirs of the Poet. 
 
LIFE OF GRAY. Ixi 
 
 mourning for his uncle, Mr. Antrobus, who had been an 
 assistant at Eton, and, after his resignation, lived and died 
 there. I remember he made an elegant little figure in his 
 sable dress, for he had a very good complexion, and fine 
 hair, and appeared to much advantage among the boys who 
 were near him in the school, and who were more rough and 
 rude. Indeed, both Mr. Gray and his friend were looked 
 upon as too delicate, upon which account they had few 
 associates, and never engaged in any exercise, nor partook 
 of any boyish amusement. Hence they seldom were in the 
 fields, at least they took only a distant view of those who 
 pursued their different diversions. Some, therefore, who 
 were severe, treated them as feminine characters, on account 
 of their too great delicacy, and sometimes a too fastidious 
 behaviour. Mr. Walpole long time afterwards used to say, 
 that Gray was never a boy. This was allowed by many who 
 remembered him, but in an acceptation very different from 
 that which his noble friend intended. These circumstances 
 are alluded to by the author of the " Pursuits of Literature," 
 when in his book he speaks of ' master-misses' being offended. 
 Mr. Gray was so averse to all rough exercise, that I am con- 
 fident he was never on horseback. 
 
 They were both good scholars ; and though I do not 
 remember Mr. Gray being particularly noticed either by the 
 master, or by his compeers, yet his compositions were very 
 good. One, I recollect, was upon the old story of words 
 freezing in northern air, which he made when he was rather 
 low in the fifth form ; but I can only call to mind part of two 
 verses upon the consequences of the supposed thaw : 
 
 " pluTiseque loquaoes 
 Descendere jugis, et garrulus ingruit imber." 
 
 From this fragment a judgment may be formed of his 
 early taste and proficiency. 
 
 At the same early time of life he was acquainted with 
 Mr. "West, who was son to the Chancellor of that name in 
 Ireland. I also knew him well, and looked upon him as an 
 extraordinary genius. Two specimens of his compositions 
 were preserved by me, and have since been printed. There 
 also survives a curious parody upon the fourth ode of the fourth 
 
Ixii LIFE OF GRAY. 
 
 book of Horace, which abounds with much good humour, 
 very happily expressed. He was superior to Mr. Gray in 
 learning, and to every body near him. In a letter of Mr. 
 Gray to him, mention is made of versifying when asleep, for 
 which, he says, Mr. West was once famous. This is, I believe, 
 founded in truth ; for I remember some who were of the 
 same house mentioning that he often composed in his dormant 
 state, and that he wrote do^vn in the morning what he had 
 conceived in the night. He was, like his friend, quite fault- 
 less in respect to morals and behaviour, and, like many great 
 geniuses, often very eccentric and absent. One of his friends, 
 who partook of the same room, told me, that West, when at 
 night composing, would come in a thoughful mood to him 
 at his table, and carefully snuff his candle, and then return 
 quite satisfied to his own dim taper, which he left unrepaired. 
 This he said he had often experienced. In the VITth Letter 
 to Mr. Gray, he incloses to him a most noble and pathetic 
 composition, which some good judges have thought hardly 
 ever equalled. Though he lived four or five years afterwards, 
 yet he seems in this poem to have had a melancholy forecast 
 that his life was not of long duration. Mr. Gray's poem, 
 ' De Principiis Cogitandi' would have been, if finished, a work 
 of uncommon merit and consequence : the fi'agment is in- 
 estimable. 
 
 When Mr. Gray went to Peter-House, in Cambridge, he 
 had the good fortune to meet his fi'iend Mr. Walpole, who 
 came to the University about the same time : hence their 
 intimacy continued. As I was near Mr, Walpole, it afforded 
 me some opportunities of seeing them both very often. They 
 were alike studious and regular, and still delicate to a degree 
 of fastidiousness, which was sometimes attended with marks 
 of contempt. This, some years afterwards, was the cause of 
 much vexation and trouble to Mr. Gray, from which his great 
 learning and other good qualities should have exempted him. 
 
 When Mr. Walpole set out upon his travels, Mr. Gray 
 accompanied him, and they proceeded for a long time very 
 amicably. But that delicacy, and those nice feelings, which 
 led them to take offence with others, began now, for want of 
 
LIFE OF GRAY. Ixiii 
 
 a more distant object, to operate against themselves. Some 
 little jealousies and disgusts arose, and Mr. Gray separated 
 himself from his friend, and came back to England. 
 
 Mr. Walpole returned soon after, and took a house at 
 "Windsor. This affords me an opportunity of mentioning the 
 two most excellent poems of Mr. Gray, and the cause of their 
 production. The first is the ' View of Eton College', the other 
 the 'Elegy written in a Churchyard,' which was composed 
 some years after the former. 
 
 The year in which Mr. Walpole came to Windsor was 
 1742, at which time it was my good fortune to live at Eton. 
 By these means I had often an opportuuity of seeing him. 
 He had not resided there'long, when he heard that Mr. Gray 
 was with his relations at Stoke. He accordingly sent him a 
 kind letter, with overtures of reconciliation, and a desire to 
 see him. Mr. Gray very gladly set out to renew his acquaint- 
 ance, and as in his way he walked through the playfields at 
 Eton, he saw the boys engaged ia their different diversions, 
 and a universal harmony prevailing. The late unhappy dis- 
 agreement and separation were at that time uppermost in his 
 mind; and when he contemplated this scene of concord and 
 boyish happiness, he could not help, in his melancholy mood, 
 forming a contrast. He was led to consider the feuds and 
 quarrels which were likely one day to ensue, when all that 
 harmony and happiness was to cease, and enmity and bitter- 
 ness were to succeed. He even went so far as to comprehend 
 and anticipate aU the dreadful evils to which mankind are 
 liable. It is a gloomy picture, but finely executed ; and who- 
 ever reads the description with this clue, wiU find that it was 
 formed fr'om a scene before his eyes. The poet saw and 
 experimentally felt what he so masterly describes. I lived at 
 that time almost upon the very spot which gave birth to these 
 noble ideas, and in consequence of it saw the author very 
 often. 
 
 The other poem, 'Written in a Country Churchyard,' is by 
 the editor of Mr. Gray's Life supposed to have been composed 
 about the same time as the former : but it seems to be a 
 
Ixiv LIFE or GRAY. 
 
 mistake. It took its rise from the following circumstances, 
 some of which are mentioned by the editor, but others there 
 are which were not known to him : — When Lady Cobham 
 resided at her house at Stoke, Mr. Gray was at no great 
 distance, in the same parish. A noble Duke, who was then 
 at Eton School, and is still living, used often to go over and 
 dine with that lady, and the Rev. Mr. Purt, his tutor, used 
 to accompany them. One day Lady Cobham asked Mr. Purt 
 if he knew Mr. Gray, a gentleman in her neighbourhood. He 
 said that he knew him very well; that he was much respected for 
 his learning, and was the author of the celebrated poem styled 
 the ' View of Eton College.' Upon this, next morning, two 
 ladies, who were then at Lady Cobham's, sallied out to make 
 Mr. Gray a visit. These were Lady Schaub and Miss Harriot 
 Speed, who afterwards married Count Very of Savoy, both 
 persons of no common wit and vivacity. They did not find 
 him at home. They, however, entered the house, and seemed 
 to have caused no small alarm to the ancient mother and 
 aunt. Having obtained pen and paper, they left an invita- 
 tion from Lady Cobham to Mr. Gray, to dine with her the 
 next day. He accordingly went, and, as we may well imagine, 
 was very graciously received. This event gave birth to the 
 ' Long Story' which poem has certainly merit ; but there is 
 throughout an attempt towards humour, which is not always 
 happily carried on, nor was it properly an ingredient in Mr. 
 Gray's original composition. 
 
 After this, when in the country, he was continually at 
 Stoke House ; and this always happened in the summer and 
 autumnal months. When he returned home late in the 
 evening, he was obliged to pass by the churchyard, which was 
 almost close to the house, and he would sometimes deviate 
 into it, and there spend a melancholy moment. The stiUness 
 and solemnity of the season after sunset, and the numerous 
 dead deposited before his eyes, afforded room to a person of 
 his turn for much contemplation. His own pensive mood, 
 and the gloomy yet pleasing ideas which then arose, are 
 described by him in the poem which was styled ' An Elegy 
 written in a Churchyard.' It was certainly conceived there, 
 and many of the stanzas probably there composed, when the 
 
LIFE OF GRAY. IxV 
 
 awful scene was before his eyes ; but the whole took up much 
 time before it was completed. This is a composition of un- 
 common merit, and the most affecting of any that the world 
 perhaps ever experienced; not only the pathos, but the 
 harmony of the verse, and the beauty and correctness of the 
 diction by which that pathos is conveyed, were, I believe, 
 never surpassed. This energy, and these pleasing reflections, 
 arose from the vivid impressions in the author's own breast. 
 This verifies the observation of Horace, 
 
 " Si vis me flere, dolendum est 
 Primum ipsi tibi." 
 
 Not only in this poem, but also in that upon Eton, every 
 soothing idea originated from what the author saw and inti- 
 mately felt. This was composed, to the best of my remem- 
 brance, in the year 1750; and as it was very much admired, 
 and a great number of copies in manuscript were dispersed 
 abroad, there was intimation given of a surreptitious edition 
 which would soon come out. Upon this, the author himself 
 ordered it to be printed by Mr. Dodsley. This was in the 
 year 1751, as appears by Mr. Gray's letter to Mr. Walpole, 
 XV. p. 232. Two years afterwards, there was a very hand- 
 some edition of Mr. Gray's poems printed in folio, with 
 designs by Mr. R. Bentley. We find the whole of them there 
 arranged according to the author's own disposition, and the 
 Churchyard comes the last ; and it was at that time the last 
 of his works. In some of the stanzas towards the latter end, 
 he has given a description of the lawn, heath, beeches, and 
 springs of water, near which he, with his mother, resided. 
 The nature of the country is too precisely pointed out to be 
 mistaken. In the print, prefixed to the top of the Long 
 Story, is a view of Lady Cobham's venerable mansion, and 
 Stoke Church hard by, where was the night scene of the poet's 
 contemplations. But in this print the ^rticles seem to be 
 reversed, through the fault of the engraver. 
 
 Mr. Gray was in stature rather below the middle size. 
 He had a pleasing countenance, in which, however, there was 
 no extraordinary expression, consequently no indication of 
 his internal powers. The print which is prefixed to his Life 
 
Ixvi LIFE OP GRAY. 
 
 is rather a caricature, for his features were not so stiff and 
 prominent, but more rounded and delicate. I remember a 
 picture of him by Pond, taken when he was very young, but 
 badly executed. What became of it, I kaow not. 
 
 These anecdotes of this celebrated person I take the 
 liberty to send to you. If you should think proper either to 
 print them, or to make extracts from them, you will be so 
 good as to make no mention of my name. 
 
 I am, dear Sir, 
 
 Your most faithfiil and obedient humble servant, 
 
 JACOB BRYANT. 
 
 December 2Uh, 1798. 
 
 END OF THE LIFE. 
 
LECTURE ON THE WRITINGS OF GRAY, 
 
 RT. HON. THE EARL OP CARLISLE. 
 
 a 
 
Ixix 
 
 LECTURE ON THE WRITINGS OF GRAY, 
 
 BY THE 
 
 RT. HON. THE EARL OF CARLISLE. 
 
 The following Lecture was delivered by the Earl of Carlisle at the 
 Sheffield Mechanics' Institute, December 14, 1852; and is now 
 introduced, with his Lordship's kind permission, as a becoming 
 Appendix to the lAfe of our Author, 
 
 I chose for the subject of a Lecture I delivered at 
 Leeds ' the Poetry of Pope.' I have chosen as my subject 
 to-night ' the Writings of Gray.' Why Gray ? it may be 
 asked. I have myself admitted, when I had to speak of 
 Pope, that upon the British Parnassus were loftier names 
 than even his. Why then do I descend lower, instead of 
 mounting higher, on the sacred steep ? In the first place, 
 I may feel, that to descant adequately upon Shakespeare 
 or Milton would seem to demand gifts and powers more 
 nearly approaching to their own ; just as to write wor- 
 thily of Socrates, it required no one less than Plato. Next, 
 in these transcendant cases, the endeavour, with whatever 
 success, has been much more frequently made. And 
 further, I believe there to be something instinctive, which 
 leads every one of us, not to what in our unimpassioned 
 judgment we think the best and greatest of its kind, but 
 to what we are sensible is most specially attractive and 
 congenial to ourselves. The strongest personal impulse 
 I could feel led me first of all to Pope : that first one 
 having been satisfied, the next leads me to Gray : and I 
 am quite confident that he is worthy enough for you to 
 hear, and more than worthy enough for me to speak 
 about. 
 
Ixx LECTURE BY THE EARL OF CARLISLE 
 
 In point of mere bulk, he has probably written less 
 than any other Poet, whose works are comprised in any 
 collection of English Poetry ; yet but few have attempted 
 a greater variety of styles, and these too among the most 
 difficult and lofty in the whole range of song. He has 
 written Odes, which may be divided into the regularand 
 the Pindaric; he has written Heroic verses; he has 
 written Elegiac verses ; he has written Latin Heroic, 
 Latin Elegiac, and Latin Ljrric Poetry ; he has written 
 Burlesque ; he has written Satire ; he has written part of 
 a Tragedy : and aU he has written is not only excellent, 
 but nearly perfect in its kind. If he had done more, — if 
 he had exhibited the prodigality, as well as the perfection, 
 of his inspiration, — I know not the height of eminence to 
 which he might not have been held entitled. His leading 
 characteristic, and probably that which interfered mainly 
 with his being a more prolific writer, is the nicety and 
 purity of his taste. If I was forced to compare his style 
 and genius with those of any other great writer, I beHeve 
 that I should select Virgil. Gray had not of course his 
 copiousness : he had indeed greater variety in the forms of 
 composition, but the same unerring delicacy of taste — 
 the same appropriate but not exaggerated loftiness of 
 diction — the same elaborate and exquisite workmanship. 
 
 I gladly back my own estimate of the poetical merits 
 of Gray, by the weightier authority of that accomplished 
 and discriminating writer. Sir James Mackintosh, who 
 says, " Of all English Poets he was the most finished 
 " artist. He attained the highest degree of splendour, of 
 " which poetical style seems to be capable." 
 
 His life and character demandapassing notice, though 
 neither the one nor the other were marked by any such 
 salient or striking points as need detain us long. He 
 appears to have suffered under an hereditary tendency to 
 gout, both of his parents having died of that malady. It 
 
ON THE WRITINGS OF GRAY. Ixxi 
 
 also closed his own more illustrious career, in his 55th 
 year, and probably gave to the whole of his sedentary 
 and uneventful life, that disposition to a pensive, but not 
 morose, melancholy, to which he frequently alludes in 
 his correspondence, and which has left most distinct 
 impressions even on his highly-polished and carefully- 
 laboured Poetry. It vsdU be remembered that he says of 
 the Youth, whom he evidently in a great degree intended 
 for himself, that 
 
 Melanclioly marked him for her own. 
 
 It is in this light he is represented in a Poem of the last 
 century, * The Pursuits of Literature,' which attracted 
 much attention at the time, from its general ability, from 
 the stores of learning contained in its Notes, and perhaps 
 most of aU from its long-sustained anonymous character : 
 it is now known to have been written by Mr. Mathias, 
 a distinguished classical and Italian Scholar. 
 
 Go then and view, since closed hie cloistered day. 
 The self-supported, melancholy Gray. 
 Dart was his morn of life, and bleak the spring, 
 Without one fost'ring ray from Britain's King : 
 Granta's dull abbots cast a sidelong glance. 
 And Levite gownsmen hugged their ignorance : 
 With his high spirit strove the Master Bard, 
 And was his own exceeding great reward. 
 
 I confess that these lines, very good and forcible in 
 themselves, appear to me rather over-charged as a correct 
 statement of the case. 'The dull abbots' of Cambridge 
 are spoken of with extreme irreverence by Gray himself, 
 and we may suspect that the superciliousness was quite 
 as much on his side as on theirs : at all events he did 
 not find the residence at his own University by any 
 means intolerable, as he spent there by choice the greater 
 portion of the last twenty-nine years of his life. And with 
 reference to the want of any ' fostering ray from Britain's 
 King,' it certainly would have been very creditable to our 
 
Ixxii LECTURE BY THE EARL OF CARLISLE 
 
 Brunswick Sovereigns, (who it must be owned were not 
 then enlightened patrons of Art and Learning,) if they had 
 distinguished so excellent a Poet as Gray : but in the 
 first place, he not only had the option of becoming the 
 Poet Laureate, which perhaps is not sajdng much, con- 
 sidering some of those who in those days wore the laurel 
 wreath, (far different from those, such as Wordsworth and 
 Tennyson, who have conferred honour upon it in our own 
 time ;) but Gray did actually receive a lucrative office, 
 which I fear he made a sinecure, — that of Professor of 
 Modern History in the University of Cambridge, if not 
 actually from George the 3rd himself, at least from his 
 minister, the Duke of Grafton, with the king's formally- 
 conveyed assent. And I imagine, moreover, that, at 
 almost every period of his life, Gray, who never was a 
 distressed man, would have shrunk instinctively from all 
 the common appearances of patronage. When he 
 travelled with the son of the most powerful Prime Min- 
 ister whom England ever had, he contrived to quarrel 
 with him, though I have the most direct authority* (un- 
 happily just removed from us,) for stating, that Horace 
 Walpole himself not only sought a reconciliation, and 
 took frequent opportunities of marking his respect and 
 admiration for Gray, but to his dying day he impressed 
 upon those with whom he conversed, that the blame had 
 been entirely on his own side, — an admission which Dr. 
 Johnson, of whom more shortly, chooses first to record, 
 and then to sneer away. However, I say it neither in 
 the way of praise or blame, but probably there scarcely 
 ever was an author who had so little of the spu-it of 
 authorship about him. 
 
 To begin, he wrote extremely httle: one of the 
 greatest of readers, he was one of the most sparing of 
 writers : even too, when he had been brought very 
 
 * Tlie elder Miss Berry, to whom Horace Walpole offered his hand. 
 
ON THE WRITINGS OF GRAY. Ixxui 
 
 reluctantly to allow the publication of the immortal 
 Elegy, he specially desires that it should be without his 
 name, and in one place he expresses almost a ludicrous 
 degree of horror at the notion of its being published with 
 an engraving of his own head prefixed to it : lastly, and 
 most conclusively of all, when later in life he authorizes 
 two separate editions of his entire works in England and 
 Scotland, he expressly mentions that he is to receive no 
 remuneration for them. 
 
 The same sensitive and fastidious delicacy which 
 pruned every expression of his pen, guarded every action 
 of his life ; and we are told by his attached and devoted 
 editor and friend, the Poet Mason, that he even assumed 
 an appearance of delicacy and effeminacy, as if to ward 
 off persons whom he did not wish to please. Such may 
 have been his weakness, and it is rather confirmed to 
 us by the prim, closed appearance of the lips, which may 
 be observed in the medallion of his face as it appears on 
 his tablet, not his tomb, in Westminster Abbey. 
 
 However, I must pause for a moment longer on the 
 undeniable merits and virtues which distinguished his 
 character, and dignified his life. His existence, on the 
 whole, was that of a scholar and recluse, pursuing varied 
 walks of learning, many of which he mastered, not with 
 the massive completeness of a German student, yet with 
 the refined diligence of an English gentleman. His fine 
 organization specially disposed and fitted him for the 
 skilful appreciation, and enlightened enjoyment of all 
 that falls within the domain of the Eine Arts ; and thus, 
 in addition to his own captivating art of Poetry, he was 
 keenly alive to the excellencies of Music, Painting, and 
 Architecture. 
 
 But a candid biographer of Gray would have both 
 softer and higher qualities to dwell upon. However 
 retiring and reserved he appears to have constitutionally 
 
Ixxiv LECTURE BY THE EARL OF CARLISLE. 
 
 been, and although there would appear to be no trace of 
 his having ever been in love, his heart was open to the 
 warmest emotions of friendship : nor is it easy to remember 
 a more congenial union of tastes and feelings than dis- 
 tinguished the too brief intimacy between him and his 
 accompHshed friend, Richard West, whose premature 
 death, as we shall shortly see, lent probably some of its 
 most thrilling cadences to his pensive lyre. His affection 
 for his mother was tender, constant, and practical : as 
 one evidence of it, let me quote the short inscription on 
 the tomb-stone he placed to her memory, in that same 
 Church-yard of Stoke Poges, which in all probability was 
 the scene of his own most successful inspiration. After 
 a few words upon the remains of his aunt, who had pre- 
 ceded her in the same grave to which he himself after- 
 wards followed her, the simple epitaph thus goes on ; — 
 
 IN THE SAME PIODS CONFIDENCE, 
 
 BESIDE HER FRIEND AND SISTER, 
 
 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. 
 
 The same affectionate and persevering love to a 
 mother is dwelt upon in a delightful Preface to the 
 Memoirs of the Poet Moore, composed by Lord John 
 Russell, and which I had the satisfaction of purchasing 
 on my way here this morning. Were I however to make 
 the present occasion one of controversy, I must say, when 
 I find Lord John Russell writing that, " surely of English 
 Lyrical Poets, Moore is the first," I should feel almost 
 guilty of treason to the Subject of this Lecture^ if I did 
 not observe that the word " surely" was a more positive 
 one than the opinion fairly warranted. 
 
ON THE WRITINGS OP GRAY. IxXV 
 
 To these amiable natural affections which Gray ex- 
 hibited, we must add a becoming tone of religious senti- 
 ment, whenever it is introduced, and the occasions are 
 not unfrequent, either in his correspondence or his verse ; 
 and it kindles even into a noble scorn, whenever it is 
 called forth by any display of shallow scepticism, or aping 
 of infidel philosophy. He appears to have always spoken 
 with the utmost repugnance of Bolingbroke and Voltaire. 
 In one place he thus pointedly describes himself, — 
 
 No very great wit, — he believed in a God. 
 
 It would be doing great injustice to Gray, if no men- 
 tion should be made of him as a Letter-writer. He 
 occupies no mean place among that entertaining, and 
 surely not ignoble, company. With less of sparkle and 
 amusing matter than his fellow-traveller, Horace Walpole 
 — with less of the unapproachable charm of simplicity, 
 and power of vivifying the most common-place topics, 
 than Cowper, — he holds rather a middle station between 
 them ; and falling short of their respective extremes of 
 excellence, partakes to a certain extent of both. His cor- 
 respondence is more fuU of illustration from varied 
 learning, and the rich coloring of art, than the homely 
 Cowper's : his letters during his Italian travels, and his 
 descriptive tour of the English Lakes, are both more 
 graphic and more simple than the artificial Walpole's. 
 
 With respect to his different notices of scenery, I 
 cannot quote a more distinct authority than that again 
 of Sir James Mackintosh, who says in one of his letters, 
 "I am struck by the recollection of a sort of merit in 
 " Gray, which is not generally observed, — that he was 
 " the first discoverer of the beauties of nature in England, 
 " and has marked out the course of every picturesque 
 "journey that can be made in it." 
 
Ixxvi LECTUEE BY THE EARL OF CARLISLE 
 
 My business on these occasions is not, or but very 
 subordinately at least, with composition in Prose ; and T 
 will only, in the way of example, give three very brief 
 extracts from our Poet's letters. I will begin with pure 
 description : Here is a ghmpse of Italy — ^the merest 
 glimpse — but it puts the reader right in the midst of it : — 
 
 " I am now going to the window, to tell you it is the most beautiful of 
 Italian nights. There is a moon ! There are stars for you ! Do not you hear 
 the fountain ? Do not you smell the orange flowers ? That building yonder 
 is the Convent of St. Isidore, and that eminence with the cypress trees and 
 firs upon it, the top of Mount Quirinal." 
 
 We will next transfer ourselves to an English land- 
 scape, a>nd will take what he says of one of the smallest 
 of our northern lakes, Little Grasmere : — • 
 
 " The bosom of the mountains spreading here into a hroad bason, discoTers 
 in the midst Grasmere-water ; its margin is hollowed into two small bays, 
 with bold eminences, some of roct, some of soft turf, that half conceal and 
 vary the form of the little lake they command : from the shore, a lone pro- 
 montory pushes itself far into the water, and on it stands a white village, with 
 the Parish Church rising in the midst of it : hanging inclosures, corn-fields, 
 and meadows green as an emerald, with their trees and hedges, and cattle, fill 
 up the whole space from the edge of the water ; and just opposite to you is a 
 large farm-house at the bottom of a steep smooth lawn, embosomed in old 
 woods, which climb half-way up the mountain's side, and discover above them 
 a broken line of crags that crown the scene. Not a single red tile, no glaring 
 gentleman's house, or garden-walls, break in upon the repose of this little 
 unsuspected paradise ; but all is peace, rusticity, and happy poverty, in its 
 neatest most becoming attire." 
 
 Does not every word prove to us, that it is intended 
 to show off the scene, and not one of them the writer ? 
 
 My remaining extract shall approach nearer to senti- 
 ment, and to that one sentiment which displays itself more 
 amiably than any other in Gray's whole character, — the 
 affection for his Mother, to which I have ah-eady referred. 
 There is, as you will perceive-, some levity in the mode of 
 expression, but none, as I think you will feel, to neutra- 
 lize its tenderness. He is writing to a young friend : — 
 
 " I had written to you to beg you would take care of your mother, and to 
 inform you that I had discovered a thing very Httle known, which is, that in 
 
ON THE WRITINGS OF GRAY. Ixxvii 
 
 one'8 whole life, one can never have any more than a single mother. You may 
 think this is obvious, and what you call a trite observation. You are a green 
 gosling ! I was at the same age as wise as you, and yet I never discovered this 
 (with fuU evidence and conviction, I mean) till it was too late. It is thirteen 
 years ago, and seems but as yesterday ; and everyday I Uve it sinks deeper into 
 my heart." 
 
 I may now proceed to comment upon the Poetry of 
 Gray ; in doing which I may indulge myself with a little 
 more detail, since, limited as it is in quantity, I should 
 otherwise very soon come to the end of my subject. 
 
 In setting out however on this topic, I do not feel 
 myself at liberty to omit a more direct reference to that 
 notable commentary upon the Poems of Gray which 
 closes — I would fain say, disgraces — that generally attrac- 
 tive work of our great English critic. Dr. Johnson, the 
 ' Prefaces to the Works of the Enghsh Poets.' To free 
 myself from the imputation of any undue prejudice on 
 this point, I would remark, that the qualities alike of Dr. 
 Johnson's writings, mind, and character, are so strongly 
 marked and prominent, that I can well imagine very wide 
 differences of opinion concerning them ; my own feeling 
 for the most part is that of high admiration. Having 
 thus guarded myself, I have no scruple in denouncing 
 his criticism on Gray as a proof, in this instance, either 
 of a most sovereign want of taste, or of a low and degrad- 
 ing jealousy. I hesitate indeed to attribute it to an 
 actual personal envy of the reputation of a man who died 
 before the ' Prefaces' were composed, but I am inclined to 
 ascribe the extreme bitterness which pervades it to a 
 mixture of the two alternative causes, the very mixture 
 perhaps preventing each from attaining its full amount 
 of offensiveness. 1 conceive Johnson to have been alto- 
 gether deficient in sympathy for the pecuKar bent of 
 Gray's character and genius, his refined, fastidious, ela- 
 borate taste ; and then the bad temper, of which the 
 Doctor had occasionally rather a copious store, was excited 
 
Ixxviii LECTURE BY THE EARL OF CARLISLE 
 
 at the praise and admiration lavished on qualities which 
 he himself failed to recognise or appreciate. 
 
 I do not think it necessary to pause upon the Latin 
 compositions of Gray. Mason asserts, that when he first 
 knew him, he seemed to set a greater value on his Latin 
 Poetry than on that which he had composed in his native 
 language ; and Dr. Johnson has the courage to imply, that 
 it might have been better for him to have adhered to the 
 Latin. It would have done the Doctor no good ; Gray 
 beat him easy in both languages. His Latin Poetry is 
 not indeed uniformly out of the reach of even modern 
 criticism ; and we have it for the most part rather in small 
 fragments, as well as in great variety of form ; but it is, 
 on the whole, extremely beautiful. It would be out of 
 place to quote from it here ; but I beg to refer my classical 
 hearers to the Alcaic Ode on the Monastery of the Great 
 Chartreuse, to the Hexameters on leaving Florence, to 
 the noble apostrophe on the death of his friend West in 
 his intended Philosophic Poem, and to the short Elegiac 
 Lines on the Battle-field of the Trebia, as well as the 
 description of the triumph of Massinissa, in the Heroic 
 Epistle from Sophonisba. 
 
 The Ode on the Spring seems to have been the 
 earliest English production which appears in the usual 
 printed collection of his Poems. It was written in the 
 26th year of his age, and he therefore does not come 
 before us with any display of that precocious sensitiveness 
 to verse, which heralded the meridian glories of Pope and 
 many others. He appears indeed to have written some 
 translations while at College, out of one of which, from 
 Tasso, I extract this striking couplet on the Diamond, — 
 
 The diamond there attracts the wondrous sight, 
 Proud of its thousand dies, and luxury of light. 
 
 But to continue — This Ode on the Spring, as we 
 thus have almost a right to expect, is as nicely polished, 
 
ON THE WRITINGS OF GRAY. Ixxix 
 
 and as carefully finislied, as almost any of his subsequent 
 compositions : it seems to be overcast by that shadow of 
 melancholy, which I have already described as a con- 
 stant ingredient of his character, but which was now 
 further deepened by the mortal illness of his beloved 
 friend and contemporary West, who indeed died after 
 Gray had sent to him, but before he had received, this 
 very Poem. 
 
 The singing of birds is well named 
 
 The untaught harmony of spring ; 
 
 And a hot noon is pourtrayed with much truth, — 
 
 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 honied spring, 
 And float amid the liquid noon. 
 
 I ought not to omit the moral reflection, — ■ 
 
 How vain the ardor of the crowd ! 
 
 How low, how indigent the proud ! 
 
 How little are the great ! 
 
 I do not feel myself called upon to pause over the 
 next Ode, ' On the Death of a Favourite Cat, drowned 
 in a tub of Gold Fishes,' which, without containing any- 
 thing which the Muse need stop to censure, is certainly 
 one of the very few pieces of Gray, for which I have no 
 wish to claim the attribute of perfection. 
 
 I must tell my hearers, that I spent above six years 
 of my life as a boy at Eton School ; and so they must 
 excuse me for bursting forth with filial fervour,— 
 
 Ye distant spires, ye antique towers, 
 
 That crown the watery glade ; 
 Where grateful science still adores 
 
 Her Henry's holy shade. 
 
IXXX I)ECTTJRE BY THE EARL OF CARLISLE 
 
 How often to scattered old Etonians, amid the mul- 
 tiplied walks of busy life, and in all quarters of the globe, 
 have these few simple descriptive lines, since they were 
 first written, now above 100 years ago, recalled that 
 well-remembered spot — that sward, green as any in all 
 green England — those venerable elms, that appear, as 
 they probably are, co-eval with the grey towers to which 
 their deep green lends its softening contrast — that more 
 than classic stream, our own Father Thames, its clear 
 waters, as yet pure of London sewage, unequalled even 
 among mightier rivers for the beauty of its dimpling 
 ripples — or, immediately above, those royal turrets of 
 Windsor, looking the embodiment of British Monarchy, 
 ancient, gentle, strong — the whole scene, with all its 
 accompaniments, tending to make even these early days 
 of education, both in their actual experience and in their 
 abiding retrospect, romantic while they are careless, and 
 conservative while they are expansive. 
 
 I may mention, that I felt so strongly the kind of 
 identification which this brief Ode gives to the Muse of 
 Gray with the memory of Eton, that upon a proposal 
 being lately made, that a collection of Busts of the prin- 
 cipal Worthies of Eton should be placed in the large 
 school-room there, most of which were contributed by 
 some of their descendants or connections, I requested 
 permission to present a bust of Gray, though certainly I 
 could make out no plea of consanguinity, or any other 
 but very sincere and fervent admiration. 
 
 I do not think the remainder of the Ode altogether 
 free from exception. In the first place, it is not wholly 
 accurate in its representation of Eton school-boy life, 
 which seems singular, as Gray had ample experience of 
 it. It is the normal habit of an Eton boy to be what 
 is termed " out of bounds," and he certainly does not 
 perpetrate that act of nominal lawlessness with any of 
 the timorous feehngs attributed to him in the verses, 
 
ON THE WRITINGS OF GRAY. Ixxxi 
 
 Some bold adventurers disdain 
 The limits of their little reign, 
 
 And unknown regions dare descry : 
 Still as they run, they look behini^ 
 They hear a voice in every wind, 
 
 And snatch a fearful joy. 
 
 ' Rollicking carelessness' would be a far truer desig- 
 nation than ' fearful joy.' 
 
 But even here, on this scene of joyous memories, 
 the persevering melancholy of Gray soon pounces down : 
 
 Alas ! regardless of their doom, 
 The little victims play ! 
 
 And then they are charitably consigned for the rest of 
 their lives to " black misfortune's baleful train," to "the 
 stormy passions," to 
 
 Disdainful anger, paUid fear, 
 And shame, that skulks behind ; 
 
 — to " pining love," and "jealousy," and "envy wan," 
 and " faded care," and " grim-visaged comfortless des- 
 pair," and " bitter scorn," and " grinning infamy," and 
 " keen remorse," and " moody madness," and " the 
 painful family of death," and " poverty," and " slow- 
 consuming age." 
 
 That some admixture of these evils must (to use a 
 current phrase) ' loom in the distance' over a portion of 
 every large assembly of human beings, will undoubtedly 
 be but too true ; but our Bard of Eton has surely here 
 deepened the shadows on his canvass into too uniformly 
 sombre a hue, and has entirely omitted the clear spots 
 and shining spaces which, with at least equal truth, he 
 might have scattered over his prophetic landscape. How 
 many gems of future excellence, how much budding 
 promise of yet undeveloped genius and unexercised vir- 
 tue, he might have discovered in the " many a sprightly 
 race," over whom he could only vent such dark fore- 
 
Ixxxii LECTURE BY THE EARL OF CARLISLE 
 
 bodings. To confine our view to the most prominent 
 walks of public life, civil or military, in our own day, it 
 may be stated, that of the six last Prime Ministers of this 
 country, four have been Eton men ; and not very long 
 after the Poet had cast his desponding glance upon that 
 boyish group, among those who disported on " the mar- 
 gent green" was Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington ! 
 The reflection with which this piece terminates is 
 very famiharly known, — 
 
 Where ignorance is bliss, 
 'Tis folly to be wise ! 
 
 The Hymn to Adversity stands next. I think the 
 opening invocation very solemn and imposing, — 
 
 Daughter of JoTe, relentless power. 
 
 Thou tamer of the human breast, 
 Whose iron scourge and tort'ring hour 
 
 The bad affright, afflict the best ! 
 
 In an Ode to Adversity, Gray had a clear right to 
 indulge his usual propensity to melancholy, and he well 
 characterises this, his own chosen associate ; — 
 
 And Melancholy, silent maid, 
 
 With leaden eye, that Iotcs the ground. 
 
 Among his unfinished Poems was found one, headed 
 ' An Ode on the Pleasure arising from Vicissitude.' All 
 that remains is composed with great care and beauty, 
 but I only quote one stanza, which, although the idea is 
 rather closely borrowed from a French original, yet it 
 is so true to Nature, and has received such simple, 
 appropriate, and complete expression from Gray, that he 
 has fairly made it his own : 
 
 See the wretch, that long has tost 
 
 On the thorny bed of pain, 
 At length repair his vigour lost, 
 
 And breathe and walk again : 
 
ON THE WRITINGS 0^ GKAY. Ixxxiii 
 
 The meanest floweret of tte vale. 
 The simplest note that swells the gale, 
 The common sun, the air, the skies, 
 To him are opening paradise. 
 
 I come now to tlie two great Odes, which more pecu- 
 liarly represent the varied, though not irregular structure, 
 and fervid tone of that form of composition, not impro- 
 perly termed Pindaric, and which signally developed the 
 genuine ore in the poetic vein of Gray. It is to these, 
 and to one written later, and not unworthy to be asso- 
 ciated with them, that we must mainly refer the expres- 
 sions in the stanza inscribed by Mason, as an epitaph on 
 Gray's Monument in Westminster Abbey : 
 
 No more the Grecian Muse unrivalled reigns ; 
 
 To Britain let the nations homage pay ! 
 She boasts a Homer's fire in Milton's strains, 
 
 A Pindar's rapture in the lyre of Gray. 
 
 To quote Mackintosh once more, he says, ' Of the 
 ' two grand attributes of the Ode, Dryden had displayed 
 ' the enthusiasm, Gray exhibited the magnificence.' 
 
 It is upon these two Odes, ' The Progress of Poesy' 
 and ' The Bard,' that Dr. Johnson has more especially 
 permitted himself to indulge his sneering and captious 
 vein : he terms them ' the wonderful wonder of wonders, 
 ' by which, though either vulgar ignorance or common 
 ' sense at first universally rejected them, many have been 
 ' since persuaded to think themselves deUghted.' Gray 
 himself tells us in a note, that he had been advised, even 
 by his friends, to subjoin some few explanatory notes, 
 but that he had too much respect for the understanding 
 of his readers to take that liberty. In a subsequent 
 edition, however, he manifested a little more condescen- 
 sion for their want of penetration. 
 
 The Progress of Poesy stands first ; and never, as it 
 appears to me, has the execution been in more complete 
 
Ixxxiv LECTURE BY THE EARL OF CARLISLE 
 
 accordance with the subject : the Progress of Poesy is 
 chronicled by genuine Poesy herself. Early in it occurs 
 the adaptation of a noble passage from Pindar, which 
 Dr. Johnson is pleased to class among the common-places 
 of a school-boy. I affirm, that any person of real poetic 
 taste, both among those who can, and those who cannot 
 enjoy the original, must equally appreciate the imitation, 
 though Gray himself rightly designates the lines of Pindar 
 as incomparable. The purport of the passage is, to 
 describe the effect of music, not only on the passions of 
 the human soul, but on the whole animal creation : 
 
 Oh ! Sovereign of the willing soul. 
 
 Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs, 
 Enchanting shell ! the sullen Cares, 
 
 And frantic Passions, hear thj soft control. 
 
 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 magic lulls the feather'd king 
 
 "With ruffled plumes, and flagging wing : 
 
 Quench'd in dark clouds of slumber lie 
 
 The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye. 
 
 I remember this passage on the eagle receiving a 
 sufficiently dignified application in the House of Lords, 
 where it was quoted by Lord Lansdowne, as descriptive 
 of the position of the Emperor Napoleon in the island of 
 Elba : the Bird of Empire shortly afterwards awoke. I 
 hope we need apprehend no undue activity on his part 
 in the present conjuncture ! 
 
 In the next stanza, there seems to me another mar- 
 vellously false criticism from Dr. Johnson. He says, 
 " ' Idalia's velvet green' has something of cant. An 
 epithet or metaphor drawn from nature ennobles art ; an 
 epithet or metaphor drawn from art degrades natm'e." 
 No, Doctor ! there is no such arbitrary or one-sided rule : 
 those epithets and metaphors are good and poetical, 
 
ON THE WRITINGS OF GRAY. IxXXV 
 
 which, provided they are seemly in idea and language, 
 put the conception before you in the way which most 
 vividly presents a picture of it to the mind. One of 
 Gray's Editors makes the refutation of this heavy bit of 
 dogmatism complete, by bringing to bear upon it instances 
 selected from Shakespeare, to whom all men bow ; and 
 from Dr. Johnson himself, to whom, I presume, Dr. John- 
 son would bow. 
 
 Baving traced the Progress of Poesy through her old 
 classic regions. 
 
 Woods, that wave o'er Delphi's steep, 
 Isles, that crown th' Mgean deep, 
 Fields, that cool Ilissus laves. 
 Where each old poetic mountain 
 
 Inspiration breathed around ; 
 Ev'ry shade and hallow'd fountain 
 
 Murmur'd deep a solemn sound; 
 
 we are brought, after her wanderings, to the home 
 she at last found in our own England. I cannot pass 
 over the picture of the infant Shakespeare, and his early 
 familiarity with mighty Nature. 
 
 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 
 
 Streteh'd forth his little arms, and smiled. 
 
 " 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 Horror that, and thrilling Fears, 
 
 Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic Tears." 
 
 If this presentation of Shakespeare is full of its 
 appropriate grace and tenderness, that of Milton, which 
 follows it, is not less distinguished by characteristic 
 elevation and grandeur. It is rather curious to find Dr. 
 Johnson admitting, that the allusion, with which it con- 
 cludes, to his blindness, if caused by study in the for- 
 
IxXXvi LECTURE BY THE EARL OF CARLISLE 
 
 mation of his poem, is poetical and happy, though it has 
 been impugned by others as too nearly approaching to a 
 conceit. 
 
 Nor second He, that rode eublime 
 
 Upon the seraph-wings of eostaoy, 
 
 The secrets of th' abyss to spy. 
 He pass'd the flaming bounds of space and time : 
 The living Throne, the sapphire-blaze, 
 "Where angels tremble, while they gaze. 
 He saw ; but, blasted with excess of light, 
 Closed his eyes in endless night. 
 
 Then of Dryden, — 
 
 Behold, where Dryden's less presumptuous car 
 
 Wide o'er the fields of glory bear 
 
 Two coursers of ethereal race, 
 
 With necks in thunder clothed, and long-resounding pace. 
 
 Hark, his hands the lyre explore ! 
 
 Bright-eyed fancy, hovering o'er. 
 Scatters from her pictured urn 
 Thoughts that breathe, and words that bum. 
 
 Gray shews in the concluding line of this splendid 
 Ode, a proper estimate of the rank to which genius hke 
 his own may fairly pretend : — 
 
 Beneath the Good how far — how far above the Great. 
 
 The next of the great Pindaric Odes, The Bard, is 
 still more generally popular, and familiar to our recollec- 
 tions. I will not take upon myself to pronounce that it 
 is superior in poetical merit, but it is infinitely more 
 dramatic, has more fire and passion, and, what may not 
 have weighed a little in procm'ing its general acceptance, 
 it deals with the striking events and epochs of our 
 national history. The opening, as becomes this species 
 of poetry, is full of abrupt energy : 
 
 Ruin seize thee, ruthless King ! 
 
 Confusion on thy banners wait ! 
 Though, faun'd by Conquest's crimson wing, 
 
 They mock the air with idle state. 
 
ON THE WRITINGS OF GRAY. IxXXvii 
 
 Now tere I cannot refrain from giving a specimen 
 of Dr. Johnson's candid and discriminating criticism ! 
 He finds himself obliged to confess, that this abrupt 
 beginning has been celebrated, but he adds, " technical 
 beauties can give praise only to the inventor. It is in 
 the power of any man to rush abruptly on his subject, 
 that has read the ballad of Johnny Armstrong, — 
 
 Is there ever a man in all Scotland." 
 
 Oh, Doctor, Doctor ! 
 
 As the Doctor has drawn me into levity, I must 
 mention an Eton tradition of an occasion, when the 
 opening was indeed deemed too abrupt. Upon one of 
 George the Ill.'s visits to the School, when the annual 
 speeches are delivered, ' The Bard' had been set down as 
 the first piece to be recited, when it all at once occurred 
 to the Boy who had to repeat it, that it would hardly 
 seem courteous, or even loyal, to burst out with — 
 
 " Ruin seize thee, ruthless King !" 
 
 The address of The Bard to the memories and graves 
 of his tuneful brethren, supposed to have perished in the 
 invasion, is very impressive ; — 
 
 Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day, 
 
 To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay. 
 
 Let me pause for a moment on this last Kne, to say 
 a word upon the form of speech called " alliteration." 
 Sometimes it is condemned wholesale, as an unworthy 
 artifice to jingle on the ear, without any corresponding 
 advantage to the sense. Dr. Johnson naturally takes 
 the opportunity of observing, ' that it is below the gran- 
 ' deur of a poem that endeavours at sublimity.' There 
 can be no doubt that it may be abused, and, if resorted 
 to habitually, must be offensive both to the ear and the 
 judgment ; but there is as little doubt that its temperate 
 
IxXXviii LECTURE BY THE EARL OF CARLISLE 
 
 and judicious adoption may add most materially to the 
 effect of a passage. I adduce this line as an example, — 
 
 To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay. 
 
 Now if Gray had transposed the words, the sense 
 would have been precisely as good, but no one will pre- 
 tend that the effect of the line would not have been 
 marred, as thus, — 
 
 To soft Llewellyn's harp, or high-bom Heel's lay. 
 
 // The machinery, if I may use the term, employed in 
 uie further conduct of the poem appears to me eminently 
 poetical. The shades of the murdered Bards are descried 
 on the neighbouring cliffs, weaving the ttdnding-sheet of 
 their Conqueror's family, and foretelhng all the chequered 
 destinies which befell that royal line. They begin with 
 the murder of his son, Edward II. : 
 
 Mark the year, and mark the night, 
 
 When Severn ehaU re-echo with affright 
 
 The shrieks of death, through Berkley's roof that ring ; 
 
 Shrieks of an agonizing King ! 
 
 The contrast between the neglected death-bed of the 
 Hero-Monarch, Edward III. and the brilliant opening 
 of the reign of his spoiled, luxurious grandson, Richard 
 II., with its subsequent dismal obscuration, is most 
 impressively presented : 
 
 Mighty Victor, mighty Lord, 
 
 Low on his funeral couch he lies ! 
 No pitying heart, no eye, afford 
 
 A tear to grace his obsequies. 
 Is the sable Warrior fled P 
 Thy son is gone : He rests among the Dead. 
 The swarm, that in thy noon-tide beam were born ? 
 Gone to salute the rising Morn. 
 Fair laughs the ilorn, and soft the Zephyr 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 evening prey. 
 
ON THE WRITINGS OF GRAY. IxXXlX 
 
 After dwelling for some time further amidst images 
 of war and carnage, the scene changes to the days bright 
 with the glories both of empire and literature, reserved 
 for England in the virgin reign of Elizabeth : 
 
 Visions of glory, spare my acMng sight ! 
 Ye uuboru ages, crowd not on my soul ! 
 
 What poetical force there is in that word crowd, 
 arising, it strikes me, from the contrast of anything so 
 shadowy and impalpable as the coming ages with the 
 hard, familiar, strictly perceptible pressure of a crowd. 
 
 There are four lines in the concluding stanza which I 
 have heard rather frequently quoted in Parliament and 
 on the hustings ; indeed, I have trespassed in that way 
 myself. When an Orator wishes to denounce a tyrant, 
 civil or ecclesiastical, or to discourage over-gloomy fore- 
 bodings of evil, out he comes, — 
 
 Fond impious Man, think'st thou yon sanguine cloud, 
 Raised by thy breath, has quenoh'd the Orb of day ? 
 
 To-morrow he repairs the golden flood, 
 
 And warms the nations with redoubled ray. 
 
 There is another fine Ode on the Installation of the 
 Duke of Grafton, as Chancellor of the University of 
 Cambridge. I believe I am not incorrect in stating that 
 there has been a fashion among the disciples of the Lake 
 School of Poets, of whom Mr. Wordsworth may be con- 
 sidered the head, to hold the poetry of Gray rather 
 cheap. I have no wish to canvass here the poetical 
 merits of the different writers of that school. I will 
 merely observe, that Mr. Wordsworth, when Poet 
 Laureate, also composed an Installation Ode for a Chan- 
 cellor of the University of Cambridge ; nor can it be said 
 that he laboured under any disadvantage in respect of 
 the person to be celebrated, as his Chancellor, instead of 
 rather a common-place, worldly politician, like the Duke 
 
XC LECTURE BY THE EAUL OF CARLISLE 
 
 of Grafton, was the present husband of Queen Victoria. 
 With respect to the Odes themselves, certainly no 
 admirer of Gray need shrink from the comparison. 
 
 We may trace the fondness with which Gray through 
 life retained his academic association, mellowed by his 
 own peculiar and abiding pensive temperament : 
 
 Ye brown o'er-arcMng 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 haimts of Folly, 
 With Freedom by my side, and soft-eyed Melancholy. 
 
 I think he grew still fonder of Melancholy as he 
 grew older : in the Hymn to Adversity she has ' leaden 
 eyes ;' she has now become ' soft-eyed.' 
 
 There is an extremely poetical description of an 
 imaginary procession of the Founders and Benefactors of 
 the different Colleges in this renowned University. 
 Suppose that you see sweeping along King Edward III. ; 
 Mary de Chatillon, Countess of Pembroke, whose Earl 
 was slain on her marriage-day in a tournament ; Ehza- 
 beth. Countess of Clare, grand-daughter of Edward I. ; 
 Margaret of Anjou ; Elizabeth, Queen of Edward IV. ; 
 Henry VI. ; Henry VIII. Now here they come : — 
 
 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 
 From haughty GaUia 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 there. 
 The murder'd Saint, and the majestic Lord, 
 That broke the bonds of Rome. 
 
ON THE WRITINGS OF GRAY. XCl 
 
 I suppose Gray must have been led by his Eton 
 prepossessions always to speak with such indulgence of 
 Henry VI. : in no less than three of his Poems he talks 
 of 'Henry's holy shade,' and then of ' the meek Usurper's 
 holy head,' and here of ' the murdered Saint.' With 
 regard to Henry VHL, he clearly was not a Saint ; but 
 he calls him 
 
 The majestic Lord, 
 That broke the bonds of Rome. 
 
 And I do not think it would be possible for bluff 
 King Hal to be more happily characterised by any one, 
 who wished to make rather a complimentary mention of 
 him, without any sacrifice of truth. 
 
 I must further cite that short, but very beautiful 
 stanza, worthy of being called, as it is in the previous 
 line, " the liquid language of the skies." I have known 
 statesmen apply part of it to cheer and sustain themselves 
 in the hour of langour, and under the chiU of disappoint- 
 ment : 
 
 What is Grandeur, what is Pow'r ? 
 Heavier toil, superior pain. 
 What the bright reward we gain ? 
 The grateful memory of the Good. 
 Sweet is the breath of vernal showier, 
 The bee's collected treasures sweet, 
 Sweet music's melting fall, but sweeter yet 
 The still small voice of Gratitude. 
 
 I do not intend to pause upon the few pieces which 
 profess to be adaptations from the Norse and Welsh 
 tongues. Though executed with a certain degree of 
 spirit, I do not think that they possess any strong 
 interest. There are lines which sound like an anticipa- 
 tion of Sir Walter Scott : 
 
 Facing to the northern clime. 
 Thrice he traced the Runic rhyme ; 
 Thrice pronounced the accents dread, 
 The thrilling verse that wakes the dead. 
 
 ml 
 
XCU LECTtIRE BY THE EAEL OF CARLISLE 
 
 But Sir Walter Scott has imparted to these themes 
 far more fire and vivacity. 
 
 I do not think either that the few Epitaphs pubhshed 
 in the Works call for any particular notice. 
 
 I must speak far otherwise of the Fragment of a Phi- 
 losophical Poem, which at one time he intended to write. 
 He says of it himself, " What name to give it, I know 
 not ; but the subject is the Alliance of Education and 
 Government. I mean to shew that they must both con- 
 cur, to produce great and useful men." He does not 
 seem to have finished much above 100 lines of his 
 original design, but they are cast in the noblest mould of 
 excellence. I will not quote any of the more didactic 
 portions, but I must give two extracts from the more 
 illustrative passages. Take first this account of the inva- 
 sion of Italy by the northern barbarians : 
 
 As oft have issued, host impelling host, 
 The blue-eyed myriads from the Baltic 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 ; 
 Seent the new fragrance of the breathing rose. 
 And quaff the pendent vintage as it grows. 
 
 These few exquisite couplets seem to me to condense 
 all the history of Gibbon, and all the scenery of Italy. 
 
 The other passage controverts the notion that the 
 diversities of national character can be referred exclu- 
 sivelv to differences of climate. 
 
 Need we the influence of the northern star 
 
 To string our nerves and steel our hearts to war ? 
 
 And, where the face of nature laughs around. 
 
 Must sick'ning virtue fly the tainted ground ? 
 
 Unmanly thought ! what seasons can control, 
 
 What fancied zone can circumscribe the soul, 
 
 Who, conscious of the source from whence she springs. 
 
 By reason's Ught, on resolution's wings, 
 
 Spite of her frail companion, dauntless goes 
 
 O'er Libya's deserts aiid through Zembla's snows ? 
 
ON THE WRITINGS OF GRAY. xciii 
 
 Every lover of good Poetry must sincerely lament 
 that Gray's design was never completed: there were 
 some detached maxims or sentiments among his papers, 
 which probably were intended to be interwoven with its 
 further progress. I will confine myself to the only one 
 of them which is in verse, and which is indeed a very 
 pithy as well as very pretty couplet : 
 
 When Love could teach a Monarch to be wise. 
 And Gospel light first dawned from Bullen's eyes. 
 
 Nor must I wholly pass over another fragment left 
 by Gray, the opening scene of a Tragedy, which was to 
 have been called ' Agrippina.' Many even of his usual 
 admirers are rather apt to abandon him here, and his 
 own attached and sympathising friend West was not very 
 encouraging. I venture to think that our language has 
 sustained a real injury in the early stoppage of the piece. 
 I agree with Mr. Mason, that as the subject was probably 
 suggested by Racine's admirable play of Britannicus, (his 
 second in merit, I have heard it pronounced by very 
 competent French authority, as ranking next to his beau- 
 tiful Phaedra,) so the execution of what was completed is 
 very much in the manner of that great Tragedian, who, if 
 perhaps esteemed at some periods, and by some persons, 
 above his merits, would appear at the present time to be 
 valued far beneath them. It is not enough to say that 
 neither Racine or Gray were Shakespeares, as Gray him- 
 self tells us in his own beautiful stanza, — 
 
 But not to one, in this benighted age, 
 
 Is that diviner inspiration given, 
 That burns in Shakespeare's or in Milton's page, — 
 
 The pomp and prodigality of heaven. 
 
 You may not like the regular and formal mould of the 
 French Drama, but, the style and form being given, the 
 question hes as to the merit of the execution ; and in this 
 
XCIV LECTURE BY THE EARL OF CARLISLE 
 
 point of view I feel sure, from the single specimen we 
 possess, that the Tragic Muse of Gray would have swept 
 the stage, if with something of classic coldness, yet with 
 great vigour of thought, and most exalted majesty of 
 diction. I will only extract a few hues ; the more readily, 
 as it is his only production in blank verse. Agrippina 
 is warned by a confidant, to beware the resentment of 
 her son, the Emperor Nero : 
 
 And dost thou talk to me, to me of danger, 
 Of haughty youth and irritated power, 
 To her that gave it being, her that arm'd 
 This painted Jove, and taught his novice hand 
 To aim the forked bolt ; while he stood trembling, 
 Scar'd at the sound, and dazzled with its brightness ? 
 
 'Twas I 
 Oped his young eye to bear the blaze of greatness ; 
 Shew'd him where empire tower' d, and bade him strike 
 The noble quarry. Q-ods ! then was the time 
 To shrink from danger ; fear might then have worn 
 The mask of prudence : but a heart like mine, 
 A heart that glows with the pure Julian fire. 
 If bright ambition from her craggy seat 
 Display the radiant prize, will mount undaunted, 
 Gain the rough heights, and grasp the dangerous honour. 
 
 I had nearly omitted to mention that of course Dr. 
 Johnson remarks, that it was no loss to the English 
 Stage that Agrippina was never finished. This, from the 
 author of the Tragedy of Irene, seems to me not a httle 
 cool ! 
 
 I had included Satire among the departments to 
 which Gray's poetry extended. Among the short speci- 
 mens extant, there is nothing of sufficient present interest 
 to quote : but the lines on the first Lord Holland, on 
 Mr. Etough's picture, and the Earl of Sandwich's canvass 
 of the University of Cambridge, under the name of 
 " Jemmy Twitcher," go far to prove, that if Gray had 
 thought proper to indulge in that vein to his full bent, 
 he could both have sported Hke Horace, and lashed like 
 Juvenal. 
 
ON THE WKITINGS OF GRAY, XCV 
 
 The stanzas which he has christened 'The Long 
 Story' have a certain degree of playful humour ; but they 
 only owe their origin to the accident of the moment, and 
 would have no particular attraction at the present time. 
 
 I have reserved for my last topic of observation the 
 ' Elegy in a Country Church-Yard.' And let me here say, 
 that however "artificial, ornamental, glittering, cumbrous, 
 harsh, affected, strutting," — I borrow my epithets from the 
 generous stores of Dr. Johnson, — the poetry of Gray may 
 have been sometimes denominated, (my hearers will form 
 their own judgment with what degree of truth,) I believe 
 I do not go too far in stating, that his Elegy is, for its 
 size, the most popular Poem ever written, in any lan- 
 guage. In corroboration of this rather positive opinion, 
 I may appeal to the common verdict of mankind, to its 
 lines forming household words in aU memories, to its 
 being the subject of incessant quotation, and of scarcely 
 less frequent translation, imitation, and parody. I pre- 
 fer to repeat no other terms of eulogy than those of 
 Dr. Johnson himself, who here fairly gives in ; and I am 
 at least glad to close accounts with the great Censor in 
 a spirit of peace — indeed of thorough agreement and 
 sympathy. His words are, — " In the character of the 
 " Elegy, I rejoice to concur with the common reader ; for 
 " by the common sense of readers, uncorrupted with lite- 
 " rary prejudices, after all the refinement of subtilty, and 
 " the dogmatism of learning, must be finally decided all 
 " claim to poetical honour. The Church-yard abounds^ 
 " with images which find a mirror in every mind, and 
 " with sentiments to which every bosom returns an echo. 
 " Had Gray written often thus, it had been vain to blame, 
 " and useless to praise him." 
 
 But I am able to adduce testimony still higher, more 
 affecting, and probably unparalleled in its kind, to the 
 merits of this surpassing Poem, and its influence over 
 
XCVl LECTURE BY THE EARL OF CARLISLE 
 
 the human heart. We are always glad to have our own 
 judgments assisted and guided by the thoughts and 
 doings of eminent men ; and these acquire a more im- 
 pressive and thrilling interest, if they have been expressed 
 shortly before the close of their lives. Let me present 
 you with two tributes paid to the Elegy of Gray at the 
 end of two very varied historical careers, with just 
 more than a century intervening between them. We 
 are informed upon what appears to be sufficient author- 
 ity, that on the night before the capture of Quebec — 
 which, of all the single passages in the long catalogue of 
 British glories, was perhaps the most romantic m its 
 incidents, and the most decisive in its consequences — 
 General Wolfe, with his small band of soldiers, was being 
 rowed up past the hostile ramparts and between the 
 steep cliffs which hue the St. Lawrence, and there and 
 then, in the stillness of that dark summer night, and on 
 the eve of his glorious victory and immortal death, he 
 repeated to those immediately around him some of the 
 stanzas of the Elegy, and then said, " Well, Gentlemen, 
 " I had rather be the author of that Poem, than take 
 " Quebec." 
 
 I pass on to my more recent instance. About two 
 months ago, the great American Statesman, Mr. Web- 
 ster, was lying upon his death-bed. Of course this is 
 not the occasion for estimating the character and quali- 
 ties of Mr. Webster : upon two points I think there can 
 be little difference of opinion — the force of his intellectual 
 powers, and the affecting and ennobling account we have 
 received of his dying hours. But, from the particulars 
 which are there recorded, we find that even in the 
 intervals of severe pain, even in the languor of decaying 
 nature, even amidst the appropriate and exalted topics of 
 Christian penitence and hope, there was a further craving 
 of the dying man yet unsatisfied. We are told, that he 
 
ON THE WRITINGS OF GRAY. XCVU 
 
 was heard to repeat somewhat indistinctly the words 
 " Poet, poetry — Gray, Gray :" his son repeated the first 
 line of the Elegy, — 
 
 The curfew tolls the knell of parting day. 
 
 " That's it, that's it," exclaimed Mr. Webster : the 
 book was brought, and other stanzas read, which seemed 
 to give him pleasm'e. 
 
 Surely it is not a slight thing to have satisfied, so far 
 as the world they were about to leave was concerned, the 
 latest aspirations of such a hero as Wolfe, and such a 
 statesman as Webster ! 
 
 The very popularity and general acceptance of so 
 brief a Poem, discourages any multiplied quotations from 
 it. The opening description at once puts the village life 
 of England before us, even though the very commencing 
 word, ' The Curfew,' is a recollection of obsolete habits. 
 In the second stanza, is there not twilight in the very 
 sounds ? 
 
 Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, 
 
 And all the air a solemn stillness holds, 
 Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 
 
 And drowsy tinkhiigs luE the distant folds. 
 
 AU is so purely appropriate, without being for an 
 instant tame or undignified, which is the great difference 
 to my mind between Gray and more modern schools. 
 Then we have the picture of the specific subject of the 
 Poem taken more closely : 
 
 Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, 
 Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap, 
 
 Eoch in his narrow cell for ever laid. 
 The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 
 
 The Author of the 'Pursuits of Literature,' to whom 
 I have already referred, terms the following the great 
 stanza, and I am inclined to think not improperly : 
 
XCViii LECTUEE BY THE EABL OF CARLISLE 
 
 The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, 
 And all that beaaty, all that wealth e'er gare, 
 
 Await alike th' inevitable hour : 
 
 The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 
 
 All sermons are here concentrated ; and how every 
 expression comes up to the full dignity of the most 
 solemn of all human themes, without the slightest strain 
 or inflation. 
 
 You would justly blame me, if I forbore to remind 
 you, how it is said, with most eloquent truth, 
 
 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 eestacy the living lyre. 
 
 I do not give the couplet on the gem, because I 
 might be told that ' purest ray serene is what we should 
 have called at school a hotch ; but there is nothing im- 
 perfect in the flower, — 
 
 Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
 And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 
 
 Many of you will be sufficiently familiar with the 
 ' village Hampden,' and the "mute inglorious Milton,' 
 who follow next. 
 
 There is much tender beauty in these two stanzas, — 
 
 For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey. 
 
 This pleasing anxious being e'er resign' d. 
 Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day. 
 
 Nor oast one longing ling'ring look behind ? 
 
 Alliteration is surely employed with much efi'ect in 
 that last line. 
 
 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 dshes live their wonted fires. 
 
ON THE WEITINGS OF GRAY. XCIX 
 
 I must not pursue the description of the care-crazed, 
 or love-crossed youth, and his epitaph. I would rather 
 ask you to judge what the excellence of the finished Poem 
 must be, from which the author deliberately rejected two 
 such stanzas as these, after they had been once inserted : 
 
 Hark, how the sacred calm that breathes around, 
 Bids every fierce tumultuous passion cease, 
 
 In still small accents breathing from the ground 
 A grateful earnest of eternal peace. 
 
 And this, descriptive of the rustic tomb of the village 
 Scholar : 
 
 There scattered oft, the earliest of the year. 
 By bands unseen, are showers of violets found : 
 
 The red-breast lores to build and warble there, 
 And little footsteps lightly print the ground. 
 
 Such then were the melancholy, but gentle reveries 
 of the Poet, to whom we must now bid farewell, in the 
 Church-yard of Stoke Poges ; for although its claim to 
 be the a,ctual scene of the Elegy is disputed with another 
 neighbouring village, I cannot question that the one 
 which was nearest to his place of residence, answering 
 adequately as it does to all the touches in his descrip- 
 tion, and which has since received his mother's remains, 
 and his own, was the real theatre of inspiration. But 
 whoever, among the numerous English and American 
 pilgrims who flock thither every year, may gaze on that 
 sequestered spot, even without such fond domestic asso- 
 ciations as I have recently happened to acquire with it, 
 wiU not be slow to acknowledge the grace and charm of 
 that strictly English scenery which composes the whole 
 view. Immediately before and around you are the ivy- 
 mantled tower— the rugged elms — the yew tree's shade 
 — the mouldering turf-heaps : — skirting this precinct are 
 the smooth turf — the over-arching glades — the reposing 
 
C LECTURE BY THE EARL OF CARLISLE, &C. 
 
 deer of the English park : not far beyond are the 
 "antique towers" of Eton, — "the stately brow" of 
 Windsor. But even the royalty, the chivalry, the learn- 
 ing, of our annals, are put aside for the time : you feel 
 the ground to be sacred to the common lot and daily 
 life of humanity, and that these, together with that soft 
 peaceful landscape which surrounds you, have been 
 adorned and ennobled by the Muse of Gray. 
 
STANZAS 
 
 BY THE 
 
 REV. J. MOULTRIE. 
 
'.^-j-ry'-- is^/zfjcc/iy 
 
 "lLt.Ju..[^LblLsl^od bv E,P Williams. 18S1 
 
STANZAS. 
 
 SEED-time and harvest, smnmer's genial heat, 
 And winter's nipping cold, and night and day 
 Their stated changes, as of old, repeat. 
 And must, until this world shall pass away ; 
 While nations rise, and flourish, and decay. 
 And mighty revolutions shake the earth. 
 Filling men's hearts with trouble and dismay ; 
 And war and rapine, pestilence and dearth, 
 To many a monstrous shape of pain and woe give birth. 
 
 II. 
 
 But still, while states and empires wax and wane, 
 And busy generations fret and die. 
 The face of Nature doth unchanged remain ; 
 Small token is there in the earth or sky 
 Of dissolution or mortality ; 
 But streams are bright, and meadows flowery still. 
 And woods retain their ancient greenery. 
 And shade and sunshine chequer dale and hill. 
 Though aU the abodes of men be rife with wrong and ill. 
 
III. 
 There is no feature of thy fair domain 
 Which of decay or change displays a trace. 
 No charm of thine but doth undimm'd remain, 
 O Thou my boyhood's blest abiding-place, 
 While five-and-twenty years with stealthy pace 
 Havecool'dthy son's rash blood, and thinn'd his hair ; — 
 The old expression lingers on thy face. 
 The spirit of past days unquench'd is there, [where. 
 AVliile all things else are changed, and changing every- 
 
 IV. 
 
 And through thy spacious courts, and o'er thy green 
 Irriguous meadows, swarming as of old, 
 A youthful generation still is seen. 
 Of birth, of mind, of humour manifold : 
 The grave, the gay, the timid, and the bold, — 
 The noble nursling of the palace hall, — 
 The merchant's offspring, heir to wealth untold, — 
 The pale-eyed youth, -jvhom learning's spells enthral. 
 Within thy cloisters meet, and love thee, one and aU. 
 
 V. 
 
 Young art thou still, and young shalt ever be 
 In spirit, as thou wast in years gone by ; 
 The present, past, and future blend in thee. 
 Rich as thou art in names which cannot die, 
 And youthful hearts already beating high 
 To emulate the glories won of yore ; 
 That days to come may still the past outvie. 
 And thy bright roll be lengthen' d more and more 
 Of statesman, bard, and sage well versed in noblest lore. 
 
VI. 
 
 Ah ! well, I ween, knew He what worth is thine, 
 How deep a debt to thee his genius owed, — 
 The Statesman, who of late, in life's decline. 
 Of public care threw off the oppressive load. 
 While yet his unquench'd spirit gleam'd and glow'd 
 With the pure light of Greek and Roman song, — 
 That gift, in boyish years by thee bestow' d, 
 And cherish' d, lov'd, and unforgotten long, [throng. 
 WhUe cares of state press'd round in close continuous 
 
 VII. 
 
 Not unprepared was that majestic mind. 
 By food and nurture once derived from thee, 
 To shape and sway the fortunes of mankind ; 
 And by sagacious counsel and decree 
 Direct and guide Britannia's destiny — 
 Her mightiest ruler o'er the subject East : 
 Yet in his heart of hearts no joy had he 
 So pure, as when, from empire's yoke releas'd, 
 To thee once more he turned with love that never ceased. 
 
 vni. 
 
 Fain would he cast life's fleshly burden down 
 Where its best hours were spent, and sink to rest, 
 Weary of greatness, sated with renown, 
 Like a tired child upon his mother's breast. 
 Proud may'st thou be of that his fond bequest. 
 Proud that, within thy consecrated ground, 
 He sleeps amidst the haunts he lov'd the best ; 
 Where many a well-known, once-familiar sound 
 Of water, earth, and air for ever breathes around. 
 
6 
 
 IX. 
 
 Such is thine empire over mightiest souls 
 Of men who wield earth's sceptres ; such thy speU 
 Which until death, and after death controuls 
 Hearts which no fear could daunt, no force could queU : 
 What marvel then, if softer spirits dwell 
 With fondest love on thy remember'd sway? 
 What marvel, if the hearts of poets swell, 
 Recording at Hfe's noon, with grateful lay, 
 How sweetly in thy shades its morning slipp'd away ? 
 
 Such tribute paid thee once, in pensive strains, 
 One mighty in the realm of lyric song, — 
 A ceaseless wanderer through the vside domains 
 Of thought, which to the studious soul belong ; — 
 One far withdrawn from this world's busy throng. 
 And seeking still, in academic bowers, 
 A safe retreat from tumult, strife, and wrong ; 
 Where, solacing with verse his lonely hours. 
 He wove these fragrant wreaths of amaranthine flowers. 
 
 XI. 
 
 To him, from boyhood to life's latest hour. 
 The passion, kindled first beside the shore 
 Of thine own Thames, retained its early power. 
 'Twas his with restless footsteps to explore 
 All depths of ancient, and of modern lore ; 
 With unabated love to feed the eye 
 Of silent thought on the exhaustless store 
 Of beauty, which the gifted may descry 
 In all the teeming land of fruitful phantasy. 
 
XII. 
 
 To him the Grecian muse, devoutly woo'd, 
 Unveil'd her beauty, and entranced his ear, 
 In maiiy a wrapt imaginative mood, 
 With harmony which only Poets hear 
 Even in that old enchanted atmosphere : 
 To him the painter's and the sculptor's art 
 Disclosed those hidden glories, which appear 
 To the clear vision of the initiate heart 
 In contemplation calm, from worldly care apart. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Nor lack'd he the profounder, purer sense 
 Of beauty, in the face of Nature seen ; 
 But loved the mountain's rude magnificence, 
 The valley's glittering brooks, and pastures green, 
 Moonlight, and morn, and sunset's golden sheen, 
 The stillness and the storm of lake and sea. 
 The hedgerow elms, with grass-grown lanes between, 
 The winding footpath, the broad, bowery tree, 
 The deep, clear river's course, majestically free. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Such were his haunts in recreative hours. 
 To such he fondly turn'd, from time to time, 
 From Granta's cloister'd courts, and gloomy towers. 
 And stagnant Camus' circumambient sUme ; 
 Well pleas'd o'er Cambria's mountain-peaks to climb. 
 Or, vnth a larger, more adventurous range. 
 Plant his bold steps on Alpine's heights sublime. 
 And gaze on Nature's wonders vast and strange ; 
 Then roam through the rich South with swift and cease- 
 less change. 
 
8 
 
 XV. 
 
 Yet with his settled and habitual mood 
 Accorded better the green English vale. 
 The pastoral mead, the cool sequester'd wood, 
 The spacious park fenc'd in with rustic pale. 
 The pleasant interchange of hill and dale. 
 The chm-ch-yard darken'd by the yew-tree's shade. 
 And rich with many a rudely-sculptured tale 
 Of friends beneath its turf sepulchral laid, 
 Of human tears that flow, of earthly hopes that fade. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Such were the daily scenes with which he fed 
 The pensive spirit first awoke by Thee ; 
 And blest and blameless was the life he led, 
 Sooth'd by the gentle spells of poesy. 
 Nor yet averse to stricter thought was he. 
 Nor uninstructed in abstruser lore ; 
 But now, with draughts of pure philosophy 
 Quench'd his soul's thirst, — now ventured to explore 
 The fields by science own'd, and taste the fruits they bore. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 With many a graceful fold of learned thought 
 He wrapp'd himself around, well pleas'd to shroud 
 His spirit in the web itself had wrought, 
 From the rude pressure of the boisterous crowd : 
 Nor loftier purpose cherish' d or avow'd. 
 Nor claim'd the prophet's or the teacher's praise ; 
 Content in studious ease to be allow'd 
 With nice artistic craft to weave his lays. 
 And lose himself at will in song's melodious maze. 
 
3l<jTi-PuljlisTiea Ij I-: P .WiTlieojis ;18H. 
 
9 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Slow to create, fastidious to refine, 
 He wrought and wrought with labour long anVl sore, 
 Adjusting word by word, and line by line. 
 Each thought, each phrase remoulding o'er and o'er, 
 Till art could polish and adorn no more. 
 And stifled fancy sank beneath the load 
 Of gorgeous words and decorative lore. 
 In rich profusion on each verse bestow'd. 
 To grace the shrine wherein the poet's soul abode. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 And was his mission thus fulfiU'd on earth ? 
 For no subhmer use the powers design'd 
 Which liberal Nature gave him at his birth. 
 And life-long culture ripen'd and refined ? 
 Owed he no more to Heav'n or to mankind 
 Than these few notes of desultory song ? — 
 Nay, slight we not Heav'n's boon, nor strive to find 
 Occasion to impeach the Bard of wrong. 
 Whose strains, a deathless gift, to us and ours belong ! 
 
 XX. 
 
 If rather for himself, a pilgrim lone 
 Through this cold world, he sang to cheer his way 
 And soothe his soul with music all its own. 
 Than in didactic numbers to convey 
 Wisdom and truth to minds from both astray, — 
 If little reck'd he of his task divine, 
 Man's subject spirit to instruct and sway, — 
 'Twas that as yet from Poesy's bright shrine 
 The light which warms our day had scarce begun to shine. 
 
10 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Thought hath its changeful periods, like the deep. 
 Of calm and tempest, tumult and repose ; 
 And 'twas on times of intellectual sleep 
 That the faint day-spring of his genius rose : 
 Man's mind lay sunk awhile in slumb'rous doze, 
 Its smface yet unruffled by the breeze 
 Which should ere long its liidden depths disclose, 
 And wake to feverish life of fell disease 
 New swarms of embryo creeds and crude philosophies. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Years came and went ; — beside the Poet's tomb 
 The flowers of many a spring had bloom'd and died, 
 When times of fierce convulsion, rage, and gloom 
 Arose, and shook the nations far and wide. 
 O then, my Mother, by the verdant side 
 Of thy bright river, lost in dreamy mood, 
 Was seen a stripling pale and lustrous-eyed, 
 Who far apart his lonely path pursued, [brood. 
 
 And seemed in sullen guise o'er troublous thoughts to 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Small sympathy he own'd or felt, I ween, 
 With sports and pastimes of his young compeers. 
 Nor mingling in their studies oft was seen. 
 Nor shared their joys or sorrows, hopes or fears : 
 Pensive he was, and grave beyond his years, 
 And happiest seem'd, when in some shady nook 
 (His wild sad eyes suffused with silent tears) 
 O'er some mysterious and forbidden book 
 He pored, until his frame with strong emotion shook. 
 
11 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Strange were his studies, and his sports no less. 
 Full oft, beneath the blazing summer noon, 
 The sun's convergent rays, with dire address. 
 He turned on some old tree, and burnt it soon 
 To ashes ; oft at eve the fire-balloon, 
 Inflated by his skill, would mount on high ; 
 And when tempestuous cloilds had veil'd the moon, 
 And hghtning rent, and thimder shook the sky. 
 He left his bed, to gaze on Nature's revelry. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 A great, a gifted, but a turbid soul 
 Struggled and chafed within that stripling's breast, — 
 Passion which none might conquer or controul. 
 And feeling too intense to be repress'd : 
 His spirit was on fire, and could not rest 
 Through that fierce thirst for perfect truth and love 
 By which, as by a speU, it seem'd possest ; 
 And long, and oft, and vainly still he strove 
 To reahze on earth what only dwells above. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 To him ideal beauty had unveil'd 
 In bhssful vision her immortal face : 
 Alas ! what marvel if on earth he fail'd 
 The footsteps of that glorious form to trace ? 
 What marvel that to him all things seem'd base, 
 Disorder' d, and corrupt ? and when he sought 
 Hope for himself, and healing for his race. 
 Even in the creeds by Christian doctors taught. 
 How cold to him appear'd the comfort which they brought ! 
 
1; 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 The thing which is, and that which ought to be ! — 
 The Gospel and the Church ! the precept given. 
 And act perform'd ! — alas ! he seem'd to see 
 Things unlike each to each, as earth to Heaven ! 
 And thus from depth to depth of error driven. 
 Through truth blasphemed, a devious course he ran. 
 His brain o'ervsTought, his proud heart rent and riven 
 By bootless strife, — a rash misguided man. 
 Farther from peace at last, than when his quest began. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Yet in a world of beauty dwelt he stiQ, 
 Entranced in visions wonderful and bright. 
 Which by strong magic he evoked at will 
 From his soul's teeming depths ; — no mortal wight 
 E'er ruled with more supreme resistless might 
 The wizard realm of fancy ; mortal words 
 Did ne'er such music with such thought unite. 
 As flow'd beneath his touch from mystic chords. 
 Whose harmony none wake but song's most gifted lords. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Thus with a prophet's heart, a prophet's tone. 
 Uttering his fitful oracles he stood 
 Midst scorn and hatred, dauntless, though alone ; , 
 A marvel to the wicked, by the good 
 Pitied and shunn'd, and where least understood 
 Most strongly censured. — Peace be Avith his dust ! 
 Nor be his faults relentlessly pursued 
 By reprobation of the wise and just, [trust. 
 
 Who feel themselves but men, and their own hearts dis- 
 
13 
 
 XXX. 
 
 But Thou, nurse and guide of youthful thought, 
 Wast Thou all guiltless of thy son's decline 
 From wisdom's ways ? — was no dark mischief wrought 
 In that wUd heart through any fault of thine ? 
 Didst thou so well perform thy task divine 
 To him and his compeers, — so well instil 
 By precept upon precept, line on line, 
 Eternal truth, that Nature's inborn ill [fulfil ? 
 
 Might not uncheck'd, unchaug'd, its wayward course 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Nay Mother, veil thy face, and meekly own 
 Thy much unfaithfulness in years gone by ; — • 
 Thy altar cold — Heaven's light but faintly shown — 
 Truth, in thy charge, itself become a lie. 
 Which, ev'n to boyhood's unsuspicious eye. 
 At once lay bare and flagrant. — WeU indeed 
 Might faith and hope beneath thy nurture die. 
 So rudely oft it crush'd the expanding seed, [reed. 
 And quench'd the smoking flax, and broke the bruised 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Those days we trust are ended ; and do Thou 
 Take heed lest they return, and thy last state 
 Be worse than was thy first. — With reverence bow 
 Before God's throne, and on His bidding wait : 
 So be thy sons for ever good and great, 
 The glory and the strength of this our isle ; 
 And Thou still fresh at Time's remotest date. 
 While Thames shall flow, and thy gTeen meadows smile. 
 And youthful sports, as now, the youthful heart beguile. 
 
GRAY'S POEMS. 
 
ODE I. 
 ON THE SPRING. 
 
 Lo ! where the rosy-bosom'd Hours, 
 
 Fair Venus' train, appear. 
 Disclose the long-expecting flowers, 
 
 And wake the purple year ! 
 The Attic warbler pours her throat. 
 Responsive to the cuckoo's note. 
 The untaught harmony of spring : 
 
 While, whisp'ring pleasure as they fly. 
 
 Cool Zephyrs through 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 reclined in rustic state) 
 
 How vain the ardour of the Crowd, 
 
 How low, how little are the Proud, 
 How indigent the Great ! 
 
18 
 
 Still is the toiling hand of Care ; 
 
 The panting herds repose : 
 Yet hark, how through the peopled air 
 
 The busy murmur glows ! 
 The insect youth are on the wing. 
 Eager to taste the honied spring. 
 And float amid the liquid noon : 
 
 Some lightly o'er the current skim. 
 
 Some show their gaily-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 tlirough 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. 
 
 Methinks I hear in accents low 
 
 The sportive, kind reply : 
 Poor morahst ! and what art thou ? 
 
 A solitary fly ! 
 Thy joys no glittering 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 frolic, while 'tis May. 
 
ODE II. 
 ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE CAT. 
 
 BEOWNED IN A TUB OT OOLD TISHES. 
 
 'Twas on a lofty vase's side. 
 Where China's gayest art had dyed 
 
 The azure flowers, that blow ; 
 Demurest of the tabby kind. 
 The pensive Sehma, reclined. 
 
 Gazed on the lake below. 
 
 Her conscious tail her joy declared ; 
 The fair round face, the snowy beard, 
 
 The velvet of her paws. 
 Her coat, that with the tortoise vies. 
 Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes. 
 
 She saw ; and purr'd applause. 
 
 Still had she gazed ; but 'midst the tide 
 Two angel forms were seen to glide, 
 
 The Genii of the stream : 
 Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue 
 Through richest purple to the view 
 
 Betrayed a golden gleam. 
 
20 
 
 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 ? 
 
 Presumptuous Maid ! with looks intent 
 Again she stretch'd, again she bent. 
 
 Nor knew the gulf between. 
 (Malignant Fate sat by, and smiled) 
 The slipp'ry verge her feet beguiled, 
 
 She tumbled headlong in. 
 
 Eight times emerging from the flood 
 She mew'd to every 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 1 
 
 From hence, ye Beauties, undeceived. 
 Know, one false step is ne'er retrieved, 
 
 And be with caution bold. 
 Not all that tempts your wand'ring eyes, 
 And heedless hearts, is lawful prize ; 
 
 Nor aU that glisters gold. 
 
■ y':y.-9i..t/io; ■• Y:^.-.?.)-^^ 
 
 p)v/< r.U/n J uiraui /;■> 
 
 iM^.ii PuMishDd w tf wjiiOTs laa 
 
ODE III. 
 ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE. 
 
 "Af^jOWTTo? iKavr} Trpoipaa-t,^ els to hvcrTV')(elv. 
 
 Menander. 
 
 Ye distant spires, ye antique towers. 
 
 That crown the wat'ry glade, 
 Where grateful Science still adores 
 
 Her Heney'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 flowers among 
 
 Wanders the hoary Thames along 
 His silver- winding way ! 
 
 Ah happy rills ! ah pleasing shade ! 
 
 Ah fields beloved in vain ! — 
 Where once my careless childhood stray'd — 
 
 A stranger yet to pain ! 
 I feel the gales that from ye blow 
 A momentary bliss bestow. 
 As, waving fresh their gladsome wing, 
 
 My weary soul they seem to soothe, 
 
 And, redolent of joy and youth. 
 To breathe a second spring. 
 
22 
 
 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 enthrall ? 
 
 What idle progeny succeed 
 
 To chase the rolling circle's speedy 
 Or urge the flying ball ? 
 
 While some, on earnest business 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. 
 And unknown regions dare descry : 
 
 Still as they run they look behind, 
 
 They hear a voice in every wind, 
 And snatch a fearful joy. 
 
 Gay hope is their's, by fancy fed. 
 
 Less pleasing when possest ; 
 The tear forgot as soon as shed. 
 
 The sunshine of the breast : 
 Their's 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. 
 
23 
 
 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 1 
 
 Ah, show them where in ambush stand, 
 
 To seize their prey, the murd'rous band ! 
 Ah, tell them they are men ! 
 
 These shall the fury Passions tear, 
 
 The vultures of the mind. 
 Disdainful Anger, palhd Fear, 
 
 And Shame that skulks behind ; 
 Or pining IjOvc shall waste their youth. 
 Or Jealousy, with rankling tooth, 
 That inly gnaws the secret heart, 
 
 And Envy wan, and faded Care, 
 
 Grim-visaged 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 forced to flow ; 
 A.nd keen Remorse with blood defiled, 
 And moody Madness laughing wild 
 Amid severest woe. 
 
 ?2 
 
24 
 
 Lo, in the vale of years beneath, 
 
 A grisly troop are seen, — 
 The painful family of Death, 
 
 More hideous than their Queen : 
 This racks the joints, this fires the veins, 
 That every labouring 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 swiftly flies. 
 
 Thought would destroy their paradise. 
 
 No more ! where ignorance is bliss, 
 'Tis folly to be wise ! 
 
ODE IV. 
 TO ADVERSITY. 
 
 Zrjva 
 
 TOV <ppOVeiV ^pOTOVS oS<6- 
 
 aavra, tw irddei, fjiddo^ 
 devra Kvpla><; e)(eiv. 
 
 jEschyl. Agamem. 
 
 Daughter of Jove, relentless Power, 
 Thou Tamer of the human breast, 
 
 Vi^hose iron scourge and tort 'ring hour 
 The Bad affright, afflict the Best ! 
 
 Bound in thine adamantine chain 
 
 The Proud are taught to taste of pain, 
 
 And purple Tyrants vainly groan 
 
 With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone. 
 
 Wlien first thy Sire to send on earth 
 
 Virtue, his darling Child, design'd, 
 To thee he gave the heavn'ly Birth, 
 
 And bade to form her infant mind. 
 Stern rugged Nurse ! thy rigid lore 
 With patience many a year she bore : 
 What sorrow was, thou bad'st her know. 
 And from her own she learn'd to melt at others' woe. 
 
26 
 
 Scared at thy frown terrific, 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 received, 
 To her they vow their truth, and are again beHeved. 
 
 Wisdom in sable garb array'd, 
 
 Immersed in rapt'rous thought profound, 
 And Melancholy, silent maid. 
 
 With leaden eye, that loves the ground, 
 Still on thy solemn steps attend : 
 Warm Charity, the general 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'niug hand ! 
 Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad. 
 
 Nor circled with the vengeful Band, 
 (As by the Impious thou art seen) 
 With thund'ring voice, and threat'ning mien, 
 With screaming Horror's funeral cry. 
 Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty. 
 
27 
 
 Thy form benign, oh Goddess, wear, 
 
 Thy milder influence impart, 
 Thy philosophic Train be there 
 
 To soften, not to wound my heart. 
 The generous 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. 
 Pindaric. 
 
 ^covavra avverola-iv' i<! Be to irav epfiT/viav 
 
 Pindar, Olymp. II, 
 I. 1. 
 
 Awake, ^olian lyre, awake. 
 
 And give to rapture all thy trembling strings. 
 
 From Helicon's harmonious springs 
 A thousand rills their mazy progress take : 
 The laughing flowers, that round them blow, 
 Drink life and fragrance as they flow. 
 Now the rich stream of music winds along, 
 Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong. 
 Through verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign : 
 Now rolling down the steep amain, 
 Headlong, impetuous, see it pour : 
 The rocks, and nodding groves, rebellow to the roar. 
 
29 
 
 I. 2. 
 
 Oh ! Sovereign of the willing sonl, 
 
 Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs, 
 Enchanting shell ! the sullen Cares, 
 
 And frantic Passions, hear thy soft control. 
 
 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 magic lulls the feather'd king 
 
 With ruffled plumes, and flagging wing : 
 
 Quench'd in dark clouds of slumber lie 
 
 The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye. 
 
 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 antic Sport, and blue-eyed Pleasures, 
 
 Frisking hght in frolic 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. 
 
30 
 
 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 ! 
 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 b oding cry, 
 He gives to range the dreary sky : 
 Till down the eastern cliffs afar 
 Hyperion's march they spy, and glittering shafts of war. 
 
 II. 2. 
 
 In climes beyond the solar road, 
 Where shaggy forms o'er ice-buUt mountains roam, 
 The Muse has broke the twilight gloom 
 
 To cheer the shivering 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-cinctured Chiefs, and dusky Loves. 
 
 Her track, where'er the Goddess roves. 
 
 Glory pursue, and generous Shame, 
 
 Th' unconquerable Mind, and Freedom's holy flame. 
 
31 
 
 IT. 3. 
 
 Woods, that wave o'er Delphi's steep, 
 
 Isles, that crown th' ^gean deep. 
 
 Fields, that cool lUssus laves, 
 
 Or where Mseander's amber waves 
 
 In lingering lab'rinths creep. 
 
 How do your tuneful Echoes languish. 
 
 Mute, but to the voice of Anguish ? 
 
 Where each old poetic Mountain 
 
 Inspiration breathed 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 Power, 
 
 And coward Vice, that revels in her chains. 
 When Latium had her lofty spirit lost, 
 They sought, oh Albion ! next thy sea-encircled coast. 
 
 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 smiled. 
 
 " 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 Horror that, and thrilling Fears, 
 
 Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic Tears." 
 
32 
 
 111. 2. 
 Nor second He, that rode sublime 
 
 Upon the seraph-wiugs of Ecstacy, 
 
 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. 
 He saw ; but blasted with excess of light. 
 Closed 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, [pace. 
 
 With necks in thunder clothed, and long- resounding 
 
 HI. 3. 
 Hark, Ms hands the lyre explore ! 
 Bright-eyed Fancy hovering o'er 
 Scatters from her pictured urn 
 Thoughts that breathe, and words that bum. 
 But ah ! 'tis heard no more — 
 Oh ! Lyre divine, what daring Spirit 
 Wakes thee now ? though he inherit 
 Nor the pride, nor ample pinion. 
 
 That the Theban eagle bear, 
 Sailing with supreme dominion 
 
 Through the azure deep of air : 
 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. 
 
 Pindaric. 
 I. 1. 
 
 " Ruin seize thee, ruthless King ! 
 
 Confusion on thy banners wait ! 
 Though, fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing, 
 
 They mock the air with idle state. 
 Helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail. 
 Nor e'en thy virtues. Tyrant, shall avail 
 To save thy secret soul from nightly fears, 
 Prom 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 vidth toilsome march his long array. 
 Stout Glo'ster stood aghast in speechless trance : [lance. 
 " To arms !" cried Mortimer, and couch'd his quiv'ring 
 
34 
 
 I. 2. 
 
 On a rock, whose haughty brow 
 
 Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, 
 Robed in the sable garb of woe. 
 
 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 ; 
 Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day. 
 To high-born 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 magic song 
 
 Made huge PHnlimmon 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 died amidst your dying country's cries. — 
 No more I weep. They do not sleep. 
 
 On yonder cliff, a grisly band. 
 
35 
 
 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 winding-sheet 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 re-echo with affright 
 The shrieks of death, through Berkley's roof that ring. 
 Shrieks of an agonizing King ! 
 She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs. 
 
 That tear'st the bowels of thy mangled mate, 
 Prom thee be bom, who o'er thy country hangs 
 
 The scourge of Heav'n ! What Terrors round him wait ! 
 Amazement in his van, with Flight combined. 
 And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind. 
 
 II. 2. 
 
 Mighty Victor, mighty Lord, 
 
 Low on his funeral couch he lies ! 
 No pitying heart, no eye, afford 
 
 A tear to grace his obsequies. 
 Is the sable Warrior fled ? 
 Thy son is gone. He rests among the Dead. 
 The swarm, that in thy noon-tide beam were born ? 
 Gone to salute the rising Morn. 
 Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the Zephyr blows, 
 
 While proudly riding o'er the azure realm 
 
36 
 
 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 evening prey. 
 
 II. 3. 
 
 " Fill high the sparkling bowl, 
 
 The rich repast prepare ; 
 Reft 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. 
 Heard ye the din of battle bray. 
 
 Lance to lance, and horse to horse ? 
 
 Long years of havoc urge their destined course. 
 And through the kindred squadrons mow their way. 
 Ye Towers 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 holy head ! 
 Above, below, the rose of snow. 
 
 Twined with her blushing foe, we spread ; 
 The bristled Boar in infant-gore 
 
 Wallows beneath the thorny shade. 
 Now, Brothers, bending o'er th' accursed loom. 
 Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom. 
 
 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.) 
 
37 
 
 " Stay, oh stay ! nor thus forlorn 
 
 Leave me imbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn : 
 
 In yon bright track, that fires the western skies. 
 
 They melt, they vanish from my eyes. 
 
 But oh ! vsrhat solemn scenes, on Snowdon's height 
 
 Descending slow, their glittering 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. 
 In the midst a Form divine ! 
 Her eye proclaims her of the Briton -line ; 
 Her Kon-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'u her many-colour'd wings. 
 
 Til. 3. 
 
 " The verse adorn agam 
 
 Fierce War, and faithful Love, 
 And Truth severe, by fairy Fiction drest. 
 
 In buskin'd measures move 
 
38 
 
 Pale Grief, and pleasing Pain, 
 
 With Horror, Tyrant of the throbbing breast. 
 
 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. 
 Pond impious Man, think'st thou yon sanguine cloud. 
 
 Raised 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 different 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 plunged to endless night. 
 
ODE VII. 
 FOR MUSIC. 
 
 Irregular. 
 
 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 bowers 
 Let painted Flatt'ry hide her serpent-train in Flowers. 
 Nor Envy base, nor creeping Gain 
 Dare the Muse's walk to stain. 
 While bright-eyed Science watches round : 
 Hence, away, 'tis holy ground ! 
 
 TI. 
 
 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 
 
 Through every unborn age, and undiscovered clime. 
 
40 
 
 Rapt in celestial transport they ; 
 
 Yet hither oft a glance from high 
 
 They send of tender sympathy 
 
 To bless the place, where on their opening soul 
 
 First the genuine ardour stole. 
 
 'Twas Milton struck the deep-toned 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 dehght ! 
 
 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-eyed 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 
 
 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. 
 
41 
 
 And either Henry there, 
 
 The murder'd Saint, and the majestic Lord, 
 
 That broke the bonds of Rome. 
 
 (Their tears, their httle 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, 
 And bade 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, superior pain. 
 What the bright reward we gain ? 
 The grateful memory of the Good. 
 Sweet is the breath of vernal shower, 
 The bee's collected treasures sweet, 
 Sweet music's melting fall, but sweeter yet 
 The stiU 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 : 
 Pleased in thy lineaments we trace 
 
 A Tudor's fire, a Beaufort's grace. 
 Thy liberal heart, thy judging eye, 
 The flower unheeded shall descry, 
 
42 
 
 And bid it round heav'n's altars shed 
 The fragrance of its blushing head : 
 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 refined 
 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. 
 
 VIIL 
 
 " Through the wild waves as they roar. 
 With watchful eye and daimtless mien, 
 
 Thy steady course of honour keep. 
 
 Nor fear the rocks nor seek the shore : 
 The Star of Brunswick smiles serene. 
 
 And gilds the horrors of the deep." 
 
ODE VIII. 
 THE FATAL SISTERS. 
 
 FHOM THE NORSE TONGUE. 
 
 Now the Storm begins to lower, 
 (Haste, tlie loom of Hell prepare,) 
 
 Iron-sleet of arrowy shower 
 Hm'tles 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 woe, and Randver's bane. 
 
 See the grisly textm'e grow, 
 ('Tis of human entrails made,) 
 
 And the weights, that play below, 
 Each a gasping Warrior's head. 
 
 Shafts for shuttles, dipt in gore. 
 Shoot the trembling cords along : 
 
 Swords, that once a Monarch bore. 
 Keep the tissue close and strong. 
 
44 
 
 Mista, black terrific 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, javelins sing. 
 
 Blade with clattering buckler meet, 
 Hauberk crash, and helmet ring. 
 
 (Weave the crimson web of war) 
 
 liCt us go, and let us fly. 
 Where our Friends the conflict share, — 
 
 Where they triumph, where they die. 
 
 W As the paths of fate we tread. 
 
 Wading through th' ensanguined field ; 
 Gondula, and Geira, spread 
 
 O'er the youthful King your shield. 
 
 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. 
 
45 
 
 Low the dauntless Earl is laid, 
 
 Gored 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 ! 
 
 Horror 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. 
 
 Mortal, thou that hear'st the tale, 
 Learn the tenor of our song. 
 
 Scotland, throiigh each winding vale 
 Par and wide the notes prolong. 
 
 Sisters, hence with spurs of speed : 
 Each her thundering falchion wield ; 
 
 Each bestride her sable steed. 
 Hurry, hurry to the field ! 
 
ODE IX. 
 THE DESCENT OF ODIN. 
 
 PROM THE NORSE TONGUE. 
 
 Upeose 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. 
 Him the Dog of Darkness spied, 
 His shaggy throat he open'd wide. 
 While from his jaws, with carnage fill'd, 
 Foam and human gore distiU'd : 
 Hoarse he bays with hideous din. 
 Eyes that glow, and fangs that grin : 
 And long pursues, with fruitless yell. 
 The Father of the powerful speU. 
 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 prophetic Maid. 
 
47 
 
 Facing to the Northern clime, 
 Thrice he traced the Runic rhyme ; 
 Thrice pronounced, in accents dread, 
 The thrilling verse that wakes the Dead ; 
 Tin from out the hollow ground 
 Slowly breath'd a sullen sound. 
 
 Prophetess. What call iinknown, what charms pre- 
 
 To break the quiet of the tomb ? [sume 
 
 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, 
 
 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 Warrior's Son. 
 Thou the deeds of hght slialt know ; 
 Tell me what is done below, 
 For whom yon glitt'ring board is spread, 
 Brest for whom yon golden bed ? 
 
 Pr. 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. 
 
48 
 
 0. Once again my call obey : 
 Prophetess, arise, and say, 
 What dangers Odin's Child await, 
 Who the Author of his fate ? 
 
 Pr. 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. 
 
 O. Prophetess, my spell obey : 
 
 Once again arise, and say. 
 
 Who th' Avenger of his guilt. 
 
 By whom shall Hoder's blood be spilt. 
 
 Pr. 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. 
 
 0. Yet awhile my call obey : 
 Prophetess, awake, and say. 
 What Virgins these, in speechless woe. 
 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. 
 
49 
 
 Pr. Ha ! no Traveller art thou, 
 King of Men, I know thee now ; 
 Mightiest of a mighty line 
 
 0. No boding Maid of skill divine 
 Art thou, nor Prophetess of good ; 
 But mother of the giant-brood I 
 
 Pr. Hie thee hence, and boast at home, 
 That never shall Inquirer come 
 To break my iron-sleep again ; 
 Till Lok has burst his tenfold chain. 
 Never, till substantial Night 
 Has re-assumed her ancient right ; 
 Till wrapp'd in flames, in ruin hurl'd, 
 Sinks the fabric of the world. 
 
ODE X. 
 
 THE TRIUMPHS OF OWEN. 
 
 FROM THE WELCH. 
 
 Owen's praise demands my song, 
 Owen swift, and Owen strong ; 
 Fairest flower of Roderic's stem, 
 Gwyneth's shield, and Britain's gem. 
 He nor heaps his brooded stores. 
 Nor on all profusely pours ; 
 Lord of every regal art, 
 Liberal hand, and open heart. 
 
 Big with hosts of mighty name, 
 Squadrons three against him came ; 
 This the force of Euin hiding. 
 Side by side as proudly riding, 
 On her shadow long and gay 
 Lochlin ploughs the wat'ry way ; 
 There the Norman sails afar 
 Catch the winds, and join the war : 
 Black and huge along they sweep, 
 Burthens of the angry deep. 
 
51 
 
 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 roar. 
 Check'd by the torrent-tide of blood 
 Backward Meinai rolls his flood ; 
 While, heap'd his master's feet around, 
 Prostrate Warriors gnaw the ground. 
 Where his glowing eye -balls 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, Terror's child, 
 Conflict fierce, and Ruin wild, 
 Agony, that pants for breath. 
 Despair and honourable Death. 
 
ODE XI. 
 THE DEATH OF HOEL. 
 
 FROM THB WELCH. 
 
 Had I but the torrent's might. 
 
 With headlong rage and wild affright 
 
 Upon Dei'ra's squadrons hurl'd, 
 
 To rush, and sweep them from the world ! 
 
 Too, too secure in youthful pride. 
 By them my friend, my Hoel, died. 
 Great Clan'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 Warriors go ; 
 Every Warrior's manly neck 
 Chains of regal honour deck, 
 W^reath'd in many a golden link : 
 From the golden cup they drink 
 Nectar, that the bees produce, 
 Or the grape's ecstatic juice. 
 
53 
 
 nush'd with mirth and hope they burn ; 
 But none from Cattraeth's vale return, 
 Save Aeron brave, and Conan strong, 
 (Bursting through the bloody throng) 
 And I, the meanest of them all. 
 That live to weep and sing their fall. 
 
 Have ye seen the tusky boar, 
 Or the bull, with sullen roar, 
 On surrounding foes advance ? 
 So Carkdoc bore his lance. 
 
 Conan's name, my lay, rehearse, 
 Build to him the lofty verse, 
 Sacred tribute of the bard. 
 Verse, the hero's sole reward. 
 As the flame's devouring force ; 
 As the whirlwind in its course ; 
 As the thunder's fiery stroke. 
 Glancing on the shiver' d oak ; 
 Did the sword of Conan mow 
 The crimson harvest of the foe. 
 
SONNET 
 ON THE DEATH OE MR. RICHARD WEST. 
 
 In vain to me tlie smiling Mornings shine. 
 
 And redd'ning Phoebus lifts his golden fire : 
 The birds in vain their amorous descant join ; 
 
 Or cheerful fields resume their green attire. 
 These ears, alas ! for other notes repine, 
 
 A difli'erent object do these eyes require : 
 My lonely anguish melts no heart but mine ; 
 
 And in my breast the imperfect joys expire. 
 Yet Morning smiles the busy race to cheer. 
 
 And new-born 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. 
 
EPITAPH I. 
 ON MRS. CLARKE. 
 
 Lo ! where this silent Marble weeps, 
 A Friend, a Wife, a Mother sleeps ; 
 A Heart, within whose sacred cell 
 The peaceful Virtues loved to dwell. 
 Affection warm, and faith sincere. 
 And soft humanity were there. 
 In agony, in death resigned, 
 She felt the wound she left behind. 
 Her infant Image here below 
 Sits smiling on a Father's woe : 
 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 Memory, and with Love. 
 
EPITAPH II. 
 ON SIR WILLIAM WILLIAMS. 
 
 Here, foremost in the dangerous paths of fame. 
 Young WiUiams fought for England's fair renown ; 
 
 His mind each Muse, each Grace adorn'd his frame, 
 Nor envy dared to view him with a frown. 
 
 At Aix his voluntary sword he drew. 
 
 There first in blood his infant honour seal'd : 
 
 Erom fortune, pleasure, science, love, he flew ; 
 And scorn' d repose when Britain took the field. 
 
 With eyes of flame, and cool undaunted breast, 
 Victor he stood on Bellisle's rocky steeps- 
 
 Ah ! gallant youth ! this marble tells the rest. 
 Where melancholy Friendship bends, and weeps. 
 
Xhe. lyij Tsianiled, Towei 
 
 rnbli^hjibv E P"Wini,ini^ ,EtoTL,1851 
 
ELEGY 
 WE^TTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD. 
 
 The Curfew tolls the knell of parting day, 
 The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, 
 
 The ploughman homeward plods his weary way. 
 And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 
 
 Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight. 
 And all the air a solemn stillness holds, 
 
 Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight. 
 And drowsy tinkhngs lull the distant folds : 
 
 Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tower. 
 The moping owl does to the moon complain 
 
 Of such, as wand'ring near her secret bower, 
 Molest 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. 
 
58 
 
 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 evening care ; 
 
 No children run to lisp their sire's return, 
 Or climb his knees the envied 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 tod. 
 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 power, 
 And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave. 
 
 Await alike th' inevitable hour -. 
 
 The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 
 
 Nor you, ye Proud, impute to these the fault. 
 If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, 
 
 Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault 
 The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 
 
59 
 
 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 soothe 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 ecstacy the living lyre. 
 
 But knowledge to their eyes her ample page. 
 Rich with the spoils of time^ did ne'er unroll ; 
 
 ChiU 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 flower 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, 
 
60 
 
 Their lot forbade : nor circumscribed alone 
 
 Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined ; 
 
 Forbade to wade through 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 tenour 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 rustic morahst 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 ? 
 
61 
 
 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 fantastic roots so high. 
 
 His listless length at noontide 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 crazed 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 : 
 
62 
 
 " The next, with dirges due in sad array 
 
 Slow through the church-yard path we saw him borne. 
 Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay. 
 
 Graved 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 ('twas 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. 
 
GRAY'S MONUMENT, STOKE PARK. 
 
TRANSLA.TION FROM STATIUS. 
 
 Third in the labours of the Disc came on, 
 
 With sturdy step and slow, Hippomedon ; 
 
 Artful and strong he poised the well-known weight, 
 
 By Phlegyas warn'd, and fired by Mnestheus' fate ; 
 
 That to avoid, and this to emulate. 
 
 His vigorous arm he tried before he flung. 
 
 Braced all his nerves, and every sinew strung : 
 
 Then, with a tempest's whirl and wary eye. 
 
 Pursued 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. 
 
 Par 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 ponderous mass sinks in the cleaving ground. 
 
 While vales and woods and echoing hills rebound. 
 
 As when from Etna's smoking summit broke. 
 
 The eyeless Cyclops heaved 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 scaped 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 terrors of his claws in gold. 
 
 Cambkid&e, May 8, 1736. 
 
SONG. 
 
 Thtbsis, when we parted, swore 
 Ere the Spring he would return — 
 
 Ah ! what means yon violet flower ? 
 And the bud that decks the thorn ? 
 
 'Twas the lark that upward sprung ! 
 
 'Twas the nightingale that sung ! 
 
 Idle notes ! untimely green ! 
 
 Why this unavailing haste ? 
 Western gales and skies serene 
 
 Speak not always Winter past. 
 Cease, my doubts, my fears to move — 
 Spare the honour of my love. 
 
^. 
 
 .„yS^'6'-^M^-<€. 
 
 T.tim,Pa'Uis"lioa\w£ rWillioiiis.lea. 
 
A LONG STORY. 
 
 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. 
 
 Pull oft within the spacious walls, 
 When he had fifty winters o'er him, 
 
 My grave lord-keeper led the brawls ; 
 The seal and maces danced before him. 
 
 His bushy beard, and shoe-strings green. 
 His high-crown'd hat, and satin doublet. 
 
 Moved the stout heart of England's queen, 
 
 Though Pope and Spaniard could not trouble it. 
 
66 
 
 What, in the very first beginning ! 
 
 Shame of the versifying tribe ! 
 Your hist'ry whither 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 warriors, not in buff. 
 
 But rustling in their silks and tissues. 
 
 The first came cap-a-pie from France, 
 Her conquering destiny fulfilling. 
 
 Whom meaner beauties eye askance. 
 And vainly ape her art of killing. 
 
 The other amazon kind Heaven 
 
 Had arm'd with spirit, wit, and satire ; 
 
 But Cobham had the polish given. 
 
 And tipp'd her arrows with good-nature. 
 
 To celebrate her eyes, her air 
 
 Coarse panegyrics 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. 
 
67 
 
 Eame, 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, 
 
 Dried up the cows, and lamed 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 vermin. 
 
 The heroines undertook the task ; 
 
 Through lanes unknown, o'er styles they ventured, 
 Rapp'd at the door, nor stay'd to ask, 
 
 But bounce into the parlour enter'd. 
 
 The trembling family they daunt, 
 
 They flirt, they sing, they laugh, they tattle, 
 Kummage 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 ; 
 
68 
 
 Into the drawers and china pry, 
 
 Papers and books, a huge imbroglio ! 
 
 Under a tea-cup he might lie. 
 
 Or creased, Hke dog's ears, in a foho. 
 
 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 magic was no fable ; « 
 
 Out of the window, whisk ! they flew. 
 But left a spell upon the table. 
 
 The words too eager to unriddle, 
 The poet felt a strange disorder : 
 
 Transparent bird-lime form'd the middle. 
 And chains invisible the border. 
 
 So cunning was the apparatus, 
 
 The powerful pot-hooks did so move him, 
 That, will-he, nill-he, to the great house 
 
 He went, as if the devil drove him. 
 
69 
 
 Yet on his way (no sign of grace, — 
 For folks in fear are apt to pray) 
 
 To Phcebus 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 sate, 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 drawing-room of fierce Queen Mary. 
 
 The peeress comes. The audience stare, 
 And doff their hats with due submission : 
 
 She curtsies, as she takes her chair, 
 To all the people of condition. 
 
70 
 
 The bard, with many an artful fib. 
 
 Had in imagination fenced him. 
 Disproved the arguments of Squib, 
 
 And all that Groom could urge against him. 
 
 But soon his rhetoric 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 hoped, that he might save his bacon : 
 Numbers would give their oaths upon it, 
 
 He ne'er was for a conjuror taken." 
 
 The ghostly prudes with haggard face 
 Already had condemn'd the sinner : 
 
 My lady rose, and with a grace 
 
 She smiled, and bade him come to dinner. 
 
 " Jesu-Maria ! Madam Bridget, 
 
 Why, what can the Viscountess mean ? 
 
 (Cried the square-hoods in woeful fidget) 
 The times are alter' d quite and clean ? 
 
71 
 
 "Decorum's turn'd to mere civility; 
 
 Her air and all her manners show it. 
 Commend me to her affability ! 
 
 Speak to a commoner and poet 1" 
 
 [Here 500 stanzas are lost-l 
 
 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. 
 
 S 2 
 
POSTHUMOUS POEMS AND FRAGMENTS, 
 
 ODE ON THE PLEASURE ARISING FROM 
 VICISSITUDE. 
 
 [Left unfinished by Gray. The additions by Mason are distinguished by inverted 
 Commas. ] 
 
 Now the golden morn aloft 
 
 Waves her dew-bespangled wing, 
 With vermeil cheek and whisper soft 
 
 She wooes the tardy spring : 
 Till April starts, and calls around 
 The sleeping fragrance from the ground ; 
 And lightly o'er the lively scene 
 Scatters his freshest, tenderest green. 
 
 New-born flocks, in rustic dance. 
 Frisking ply their feeble feet ; 
 Forgetful of their wintry trance, 
 The birds his presence greet : 
 But chief, the sky-lark warbles high 
 His trembling thrilling ecstacy ; 
 And, lessening from the dazzled sight. 
 Melts into air and hquid light. 
 
73 
 
 Rise, my soul ! on wings of fire, 
 
 Rise the rapt'rous choir among ; 
 Hark ! 'tis nature strikes the lyre, 
 
 And leads the gen'ral song : 
 ' Warm let the lyric transport flow. 
 Warm as the ray that bids it glow ; 
 And animates the vernal grove 
 With health, with harmony, and love.' 
 
 Yesterday the sullen year 
 
 Saw the snowy whirlwind fly ; 
 Mute was the music of the air, 
 The herd stood drooping by : 
 Their raptures now that wildly flow, 
 No yesterday nor morrow know ; 
 'Tis man alone that joy descries 
 With forward, and reverted eyes. 
 
 Smiles on past misfortune's brow 
 
 Soft reflection's hand can trace ; 
 And o'er the cheek of sorrow throw 
 
 A melancholy grace ; 
 While hope prolongs our happier hour, 
 Or deepest shades, that dimly lower 
 And blacken round our weary way. 
 Gilds with a gleam of distant day. 
 
74 
 
 Still, where rosy pleasure leads. 
 
 See a kindred grief pursue ; 
 Behind the steps that misery treads. 
 
 Approaching comfort view : 
 The hues of bliss more brightly glow, 
 Chastis'd by sabler tints of woe ; 
 And blended form, with artful strife, 
 The strength aud harmony of life. 
 
 See the wretch, that long has tost 
 
 On the thorny bed of pain, 
 At length repair his vigour lost, 
 And breathe and walk again : 
 The meanest floweret of the vale. 
 The simplest note that swells the gale, 
 The common sun, the air, the skies. 
 To him are opening paradise. 
 
 Humble quiet builds her cell, 
 
 Near the source whence pleasure flows ; 
 She eyes the clear crystalline well. 
 
 And tastes it as it goes. 
 ' While' far below the ' madding' crowd 
 ' Rush headlong to the dangerous flood,' 
 Where broad and turbulent it sweeps, 
 ' And' perish in the boundless deeps. 
 
75 
 
 Mark where indolence and pride, 
 
 ' Sooth'd by flattery's tinkling soimd,' 
 Go, softly rolling, side by side. 
 Their dull but daily round : 
 ' To these, if Hebe's self should bring 
 The purest cup from pleasure's spring, 
 Say, can they taste the flavour high 
 Of sober, simple, genuine joy ? 
 
 ' Mark ambition's march sublime 
 Up to power's meridian height ; 
 While pale-eyed envy sees him climb, 
 
 And sickens at the sight. 
 Phantoms of danger, death, and dread. 
 Float hourly round ambition's head ; 
 While spleen, within his rival's breast. 
 Sits brooding on her scorpion nest. 
 
 ' Happier he, the peasant, far. 
 
 From the pangs of passion free, 
 That breathes the keen yet wholesome air 
 
 Of rugged penury. 
 He, when his morning task is done, 
 Can slumber in the noontide sun ; 
 And hie him home, at evening's close. 
 To sweet repast and calm repose. 
 
76 
 
 ' He, unconscious whence the bUss, 
 
 Feels, and owns in carols rude. 
 That all the circling joys are his, 
 
 Of dear Vicissitude. 
 From toils he wins the spirits light. 
 From busy day the peacefal night ; 
 Rich, from the very want of wealth. 
 In heaven's best treasures, peace and health.' 
 
AGRIPPINA, AN UNFINISHED TRAGEDY. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 AgrippinAj the Empress-mother. 
 
 Nero, the Emperor. 
 
 Popp^A, believed to be in love with Otho. 
 
 Otho, a young man of quality, in love with PopPiEA. 
 
 Seneca, the Emperor's Preceptor. 
 
 Anicktus, Captain of the G-uards. 
 
 Demeteius, the Cynic, friend to Senbca. 
 
 AcEEONiA, Confidant to Agrippina. 
 
 Scene — The Emperor* s villa at Baits, 
 
 " The argument drawn out by him, in these two papers, (says Mr. Mason, in his Edition 
 of Gray) under the idea of a plot and under-plot, I shall here unite ; as it will tend to show 
 that the action itself was possessed of sufficient unity. 
 
 ** The drama opens with the indiffnation of Agrippina, at receiving' her son's orders from 
 Anicetus to remove from Baise, and to have her guard taken from her. At this time Otho, 
 having conveyed Poppcea from the house of her husband Rufus Crispinus, brings her to 
 Baiae, where he means to conceal her among' the crowd ; or, if his fraud is discovered, to 
 have recourse to the Emperor's authority : but, koowing the lawless temper of Nero, he 
 determines not to have recourse to that expedient but on the utmost necessity. In the 
 mean time he commits her to the care of Anicetus, whom he takes to be his ft'iend, and in 
 whose ag-e he thinks he may safely confide. Nero is not yet come to Baias : but Seneca, 
 whom he sends before him, informs Agrippina of the accusation concerning Rubellius 
 Plancus, and desires her to clear herself, which she does briefly ; but demands to see her 
 son, who, on his arrival, acquits her of all suspicion, and restores her to her honours. In 
 the mean while, Anicetus, to whose care Poppsea had been intrusted by Otho, contrives 
 the following plot to ruin Agrippina: He betrays his trast to Otho, and brings Nero, as it 
 were by chance, to the sight of the beautiful Poppaea : the Empeior is immediately struck 
 with her charms, and she, by a feigned resistance, increases his passion ; though, in reality, 
 she is from the first dazzled with the prospect of empire, and forgets Otho : she therefore 
 joins with Anicetus in his design of ruining Agrippina, soon perceiving that it will be for 
 her interest. Otho, hearing that the Emperor had seen Poppeea, is much enraged ; but not 
 knowing that this interview was obtained through the treachery of Anicetus, is readily 
 
 Sersuaded by him to see Agrippina in secret, and acquaint her with his fears that her son 
 Fero would marry Poppaea. Agrippina, to support her own power, and to wean the 
 Emperor from the love of Poppaea, gives Otho encouragement, and promises to support 
 him. Anicetus secretly introduces Nero to hear their discourse ; who resolves immediately 
 on his mother's death, and, by Anicetus' means, to destroy her by drowning. A solemn 
 feast, in honour of their reconciliation, is to be made ; after which, she being to go by sea 
 to iSauli, the ship is so contrived as to sink or' crush her: she escapes by accident, and 
 returns to BaiaB. in this interval Otho has an interview with Poppaea ; and being duped a 
 second time by Anicetus and her, determines to fiy with her into Greece, by means of a 
 vessel which is to be furnished by Anicetus; but he, pretending to remove Poppaea on 
 board in the night, conveys her to Nero's apartment : she then encourages and determines 
 Nero to banish Otho, and tinish the hon-id deed he had attempted on his mother. Anicetus 
 undertakes to execute his resolves ; and, under a pretence of a plot upon the Emperor's 
 life, is sent with a guard to murder Agrippina, who is still at Baise in imminent fear, and 
 irresolute bow to conduct herself. The account of her death, and the Emperor's horror 
 and fruitless remorse, finishes the drama." 
 
78 
 
 ACT I. Scene T. 
 Agrippina. Aceronia. 
 
 Agrip. 'Tis well, begone ! your errand is perform' d, 
 [Speaks as to Anicetus entering. 
 The message needs no comment. Tell your master, 
 His mother shall obey him. Say you saw her 
 Yielding due reverence to his high command : 
 Alone, unguarded and without a lictor, 
 As fits the daughter of Germanicus. 
 Say, she retir'd to Antium, there to tend 
 Her household cares, a M^oman's best employment. 
 What if you add, how she turn'd pale and trembled ; 
 You think, you spied a tear stand in her eye. 
 And would have dropp'd, but that her pride restrain'd it ? 
 (Go ! you can paint it well) 'twill profit you. 
 And please the stripling. Yet 'twould dash his joy 
 To hear the spirit of Britannicus 
 Yet walks on earth : at least there are who know 
 Without a spell to raise, and bid it fire 
 A thousand haughty hearts, unus'd to shake 
 When a boy frowns, nor to be lured with smiles 
 To taste of hollow kindness, or partake 
 His hospitable board : they are aware 
 Of th' unpledg'd bowl ; they love not aconite. 
 
 Acer. He's gone : and much I hope these walls alone 
 And the mute air are privy to your passion. 
 Forgive your servant's fears, who sees the danger 
 Which fierce resentment cannot fail to raise 
 In haughty youth, and irritated power. 
 
79 
 
 Agbip. And dost thou talk to me, to me of danger, 
 Of hauglity youth and irritated power. 
 To her that gave it being, her that arm'd 
 This painted Jove, and taught his novice hand 
 To aim the forked bolt ; while he stood trembling, 
 Scar'd at the sound, and dazzled with its brightness ? 
 
 'Tis hke, thou hast forgot, when yet a stranger 
 To adoration, to the grateful steam 
 Of flattery's incense, and obsequious vows 
 From voluntary realms, a puny boy, 
 Deck'd with no other lustre, than the blood 
 Of Agrippina's race, he liv'd unknown 
 To fame, or fortune ; haply eyed at distance 
 Some edileship, ambitious of the power 
 To judge of weights and measures ; scarcely dar'd 
 On expectation's strongest wing to soar 
 High as the consulate, that empty shade 
 Of long-forgotten liberty : when I 
 Oped his young eye to bear the blaze of greatness ; 
 Shew'd him where empire tower' d, and bade him strike 
 The noble quarry. Gods ! then was the time 
 To shrink from danger ; fear might then have worn 
 The mask of prudence : but a heart like mine, 
 A heart that glows with the pure Julian fire. 
 If bright ambition from her craggy seat 
 Display the radiant prize, will mount undaunted. 
 Gain the rough heights, and grasp the dangerous honour. 
 
 Acer. Through various life I have pursued your steps. 
 Have seen your soul, and wonder'd at its daring : 
 Hence rise my fears. Nor am I yet to learn 
 How vast the debt of gratitude which Nero 
 To such a mother owes ; the world you gave him 
 Suffices not to pay the obligation. 
 
80 
 
 I well remember too (for I was present) 
 When in a secret and dead hour of night, 
 Due sacrifice perform'd with barb'rous rights 
 Of mutter'd charms, and solemn invocation. 
 You bade the Magi call the dreadful powers, 
 That read futurity, to know the fate 
 Impending o'er your son : their answer was, 
 ' If the son reign, the mother perishes.' 
 Perish (you cried) the mother ! reign the son ! 
 He reigns, the rest is heav'n's ; who oft has bade, 
 Ev'n when its will seem'd wrote in lines of blood, 
 Th' unthought event disclose a whiter meaning. 
 Think too how oft in weak and sickly minds 
 The sweets of kindness lavishly indulg'd 
 Rankle to gall ; and benefits, too great 
 To be repaid, sit heavy on the soul, 
 As unrequited wrongs. The willing homage 
 Of prostrate Rome, the senate's joint applause. 
 The riches of the earth, the train of pleasures 
 That wait on youth, and arbitrary sway ; — 
 These were your gift, and with them you bestowed 
 The very power he has to be ungrateful. 
 
 Agrip. Thus ever grave and undisturb'd reflection 
 Pours its cool dictates in the madding ear 
 Of rage, and thinks to quench the fire it feels not. 
 Say'st thou I must be cautious, must be silent, 
 And tremble at the phantom I have raised ? 
 Carry to him thy timid counsels. He 
 Perchance may heed 'em : tell him too, that one 
 Who had such liberal power to give, may still 
 With equal power resume that gift, and raise 
 A tempest that shall shake her own creation 
 To its original atoms — tell me, say ! 
 
81 
 
 This mighty emperor, this dreaded hero, 
 Has he beheld the glittering front of war ? 
 Knows his soft ear the trumpet's thrilling voice, 
 And outcry of the battle ? " Have his limbs 
 Sweat under iron harness ? Is he not 
 The silken son of dalliance, nurs'd in ease 
 And pleasure's flow'ry lap ? — Rubellius lives. 
 And Sylla has his friends, though school'd by fear 
 To bow the supple knee, and court the times 
 With shows of fair obeisance ; and a call, 
 Like mine, might serve belike to wake pretensions 
 Drowsier than theirs, who boast the genuine blood 
 Of our imperial house. 
 
 Acer. Did I not wish to check this dangerous passion, 
 I might remind my mistress that her nod 
 Can rouse eight hardy legions, wont to stem 
 With stubborn nerves the tide, and face the rigour 
 Of bleak Germania's snows. Four, not less brave, 
 That in Armenia quell the Parthian force 
 Under the warlike Corbulo, by you 
 Mark'd for their leader : these, by ties confirm'd, 
 Of old respect and gratitude, are yours. 
 Surely the'Masians too, and those of Egypt, 
 Have not forgot your sire : the eye of Rome, 
 And the Praetorian camp have long rever'd. 
 With custom'd awe, the daughter, sister, wife, 
 And mother of their Caesars. 
 
 Agrip. Ha ! by Juno, 
 
 It bears a noble semblance. On this base 
 My great revenge shall rise ; or say we sound 
 The trump of liberty ; there will not want. 
 Even in the servile senate, ears to own 
 Her spirit-stirring voice ; Soranus there. 
 
82 
 
 And Cassius ; Vetus too, and Thrasea, 
 
 Minds of the antique cast, rough, stubborn souls. 
 
 That struggle with the yoke. How shall the spark 
 
 Unquenchable, that glows within their breasts. 
 
 Blaze into freedom, when the idle herd 
 
 (Slaves from the womb, created but to stare. 
 
 And bellow in the Circus) yet wUl start, 
 
 And shake 'em at the name of liberty. 
 
 Stung by a senseless word, a vain tradition. 
 
 As there were magic in it ? Wruikled beldams 
 
 Teach it their grandchildren, as somewhat rare 
 
 That anciently appear'd, but when, extends 
 
 Beyond their chronicle — oh ! 'tis a cause 
 
 To arm the hand of childhood, and rebrace 
 
 The slacken'd sinews of time-wearied age. 
 
 Yes, we may meet, ungrateful boy, we may ! 
 Again the buried genius of old Rome 
 Shall from the dust uprear his reverend head, 
 Rous'd by the shout of milUons : there before 
 His high tribunal thou and I appear. 
 Let majesty sit on thy awful brow. 
 And lighten from thy eye : around thee call 
 The gilded swarm that wantons in the sunshine 
 Of thy full favour ; Seneca be there. 
 In gorgeous phrase of labom-'d eloquence 
 To dress thy plea, and Burrhus strengthen it 
 With his plain soldier's oath, and honest seeming. 
 Against thee, liberty and Agrippina : 
 The world, the prize ; and fair befall the victors. 
 
 But soft ! why do I waste the fruitless hours 
 In threats unexecuted ? Haste thee, fly 
 These hated walls, that seem to mock my shame. 
 And cast me forth in duty to their lord. 
 
83 
 
 Acer. 'Tis time to go, the sun is high advanc'd, 
 And, ere mid-day, Nero will come to Baias. 
 
 Agrip. My thought aches at him ; not the basilisk 
 More deadly to the sight, than is to me 
 The cool injurious eye of frozen kindness. 
 I will not meet its poison. Let him feel 
 Before he sees me. 
 
 Acer. Why then stays my sovereign. 
 
 Where he so soon may — 
 
 Agrip. Yes, I will be gone, 
 
 But not to Antium — aU shall be confess'd, 
 Whate'er the frivolous tongue of giddy fame 
 Has spread among the crowd ; things, that but whisper'd 
 Have arch'd the hearer's brow, and rivetted 
 His eyes in fearful ecstacy : no matter 
 What ; so't be strange, and dreadful. — Sorceries, 
 Assassinations, poisonings — the deeper 
 My guilt, the blacker his ingratitude. 
 
 And you, ye manes of ambition's victims. 
 
 Enshrined Claudius, with the pitied ghosts 
 
 Of the SyUani, doom'd to early death, 
 
 (Ye unavailing horrors, fruitless crimes !) 
 
 If from the realms of night my voice ye hear, 
 
 In lieu of penitence, and vain remorse. 
 
 Accept my vengeance. Though by me ye bled, 
 
 He was the cause. My love, my fears for him. 
 
 Dried the soft springs of pity in my heart, 
 
 And froze them up with deadly cruelty. 
 
 Yet if your injur'd shades demand my fate. 
 
 If murder cries for murder, blood for blood, 
 
 Let me not fall alone ; but crush his pride. 
 
 And sink the traitor in his mother's ruin. 
 
 [^Exeunt. 
 
84 
 
 Scene II. Otho, Popp^a. 
 
 Otho. Thus far we're safe. Thanks to the rosy queen 
 Of amorous thefts : and had her wanton son 
 Lent us his wings, we could not have beguil'd 
 With more elusive speed the dazzled sight 
 Of wakeful jealousy. Be gay securely ; 
 Dispel, my fair, with smiles, the tim'rous' cloud 
 That hangs on thy clear brow. So Helen look'd, 
 So her white neck reclin'd, so was she borne 
 By the young Trojan to his gilded bark 
 With fond reluctance, yielding modesty. 
 And oft-reverted eye, as if she knew not 
 Whether she fear'd, or wish'd to be pursued. 
 
 ♦■ 
 
HYMN TO IGNORANCE. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 Hail, Horrors, hail ! ye ever gloomy bowers, 
 Ye gothic fanes, and antiquated towers. 
 Where rushy Camus' slowly-winding flood 
 Perpetual draws his humid train of mud : 
 Glad I revisit thy neglected reign, 
 Oh take me to thy peaceful shade again. 
 
 But chiefly thee, whose influence, breath'd from high, 
 Augments the native darkness of the sky ; 
 Ah Ignorance ! soft salutary power ! 
 Prostrate with filial reverence I adore. 
 Thrice hath Hyperion roll'd his annual race, 
 Since weeping I forsook thy fond embrace. 
 Oh say, successful dost thou stiU oppose 
 Thy leaden ^gis 'gainst our ancient foes ? 
 Still stretch, tenacious of thy right divine. 
 The massy sceptre o'er thy slumb'ring line ? 
 And dews Lethean through the land dispense 
 To steep in slumbers each benighted sense ? 
 If any spark of wit's delusive ray 
 Break out, and flash a momentary day. 
 With damp, cold touch forbid it to aspire. 
 And huddle up in fogs the dangerous fire. 
 
Oh say — she hears m6 not, but careless grown, 
 Lethargic nods upon her ebon throne. 
 Goddess ! awake, arise ! alas my fears ! 
 Can powers immortal feel the force of years ? 
 Not thus of old, with ensigns wide unfurl'd. 
 She rode triumphant o'er the vanquish'd world ; 
 Fierce nations own'd her unresisted might, 
 And aU was ignorance, and aU was night. 
 
 Oh sacred age ! Oh times for ever lost ! 
 (The schoolman's glory, and the churchman's boast.) 
 For ever gone — yet still to Fancy new. 
 Her rapid wings the transient scene pursue, 
 And bring the buried ages back to view. 
 
 High on her car, behold the grandam ride. 
 Like old Sesostris, with barbaric pride ; 
 * * * a team of harness'd monarchs bend • 
 
THE ALLIANCE OF 
 
 EDUCATION AND GOVERNMENT. 
 
 A FRAGMENT, 
 
 ESSAY I. 
 
 -UoTay , CO ^yade' Tav yap aoiBav 
 
 OvTi Tra eii ^AtSav je tov eKkeXadovra ^vXa^ets, 
 
 Theocmtus, Id. I. 63. 
 
 As sickly plants betray a niggard earth. 
 Whose barren bosom starves her generous 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, 5 
 
 The soil, though 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, 10 
 
 That health and vigour to the soul impart. 
 Spread the young thought, and warm the opening heart : 
 So fond instruction on the growing powers 
 Of nature idly lavishes her stores. 
 
 If equal justice with unclouded face 15 
 
 Smile not indulgent on the rising race, 
 
88 
 
 And scatter with a free, though frugal hand. 
 
 Light golden showers of plenty o'er the land : 
 
 But tyranny has fix'd her empire there. 
 
 To check their tender hopes with chilling fear, ao 
 
 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. 25 
 
 How rude so e'er th' exterior form we find, 
 Howe'er opinion tinge the varied mind. 
 Alike to all, the kind impartial heav'n 
 The sparks of truth and happiness has giv'n : 
 With sense to feel, with memory to retain, 30 
 
 They follow pleasure, and they fly from pain ; 
 Their judgment mends the plan their fancy draws. 
 The event presages, and explores the cause ; 
 The soft returns of gratitude they know. 
 By fraud elude, by force repel the foe ; ^^ 
 
 While mutual wishes, mutual woes endear 
 The social smile, the sympathetic tear. 
 
 Say, then, through ages by what fate confin'd 
 To difierent climes seem different souls assign'd ? 
 Here measur'd laws and philosophic ease 40 
 
 Fix, and improve the polish'd arts of peace ; 
 Their 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 every gale. 45 
 
 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 
 Then- arms, their kings, their gods were roU'd away. 
 
89 
 
 As oft have issued, host impeUing host, 50 
 
 The blue-eyed myriads from the Baltic 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 ; 55 
 
 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 60 
 
 Th' encroaching tide that drowns her lessening lands ; 
 
 And sees far off, with an indignant groan. 
 
 Her native plains, and empires once her own ? 
 
 Can opener skies and suns of fiercer flame 
 
 O'erpower the fire, that animates our frame ; 65 
 
 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 ? 
 
 And, where the face of nature laughs around, 70 
 
 Must sick'ning virtue fly the tainted ground ? 
 
 Unmanly thought ! what seasons can control, 
 
 Whai fancied zone can circumscribe the soul, 
 
 Who, conscious of the source from whence she springs. 
 
 By reason's light, on resolution's wings, 75 
 
 Spite of her frail companion, dauntless goes 
 
 O'er Libya's deserts and through Zembla's snows ? 
 
 She bids each slumb'ring energy awake, 
 
 Another touch, another temper take, 
 
 Suspends th' inferior laws that rule our clay : 80 
 
 The stubborn elements confess her sway ; 
 
90 
 
 Their little wants, their low desires refine. 
 And raise the mortal to a height divine. 
 
 Not but the human fabric from the birth 
 Imbibes a flavom' of its parent earth : 85 
 
 As various tracts enforce a various toil. 
 The manners speak the idiom of their soil. 
 An iron -race the mountain-chffs maintain, 
 Foes to the gentler genius of the plain : 
 For where unwearied sinews must be found 90 
 
 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 vrith spirit what by strength they gain'd ? 95 
 And while their rocky ramparts roimd they see, 
 The rough abode of want and liberty, 
 (As lawless force from confidence wiE grow) 
 Insult the plenty of the vales below ? 
 What wonder, in the sultry climes, that spread 100 
 
 Where Nile redundant o'er his summer-bed 
 From his broad bosom life and verdure flings. 
 And broods o'er Egypt vnth his wat'ry wings, 
 If with advent'rous oar and ready sail 
 The dusky people drive before the gale ; 1 05 
 
 Or on frail floats to neighb'ring cities ride, 
 That rise and glitter o'er the ambient tide. 
 
91 
 
 COMMENTARY 
 
 ON THE LAST FRAGMENTARY POEM. 
 
 The author's subject being (as we have seen) The necessary alliance between a good 
 form of government and a good mode of education^ in order to produce the happiness oj 
 manMnd, the Poem opens with two similes,— an uncommon kind of exordium ; but which 
 I suppose the poet intentionally chose, to intimate the analogical method he meant to 
 pursue in his subsequent reasonings. 1st, He asserts that men without education are like 
 sickly plants in a cold or barren soil, {lines 1 to 5, and 8 to 13 ;) and 2ndly, he compares 
 them, when unblest with a just and well-regulated government, to plants that will not 
 blossom or bear fruit in an unkindly and inclement air (l. 5 to 9, and 1. 13 to 22). Having 
 thus laid down the two propositions he means to prove, he begins by examining into the 
 characteristics which (taking a general view of mankind) all men have in common one with 
 another {I. 22 to 39) ; they covet pleasure and avoid pain {I. 31) ; they feel gratitude for 
 benefits {l. 34 ;) they desire to avenge wrongs, which they effect either by force or cunning 
 (l. 35) ; they are linked to each other by their common feelings, and participate in sorrow 
 and in joy [1. 36, 37). If then all the human species agree in so many moral particulars, 
 whence arises the diversity of national characters ? This question the poet puts at line 38, 
 and dilates upon to;/. *H. Why, says he, have some nations shewn a propensity to commerce 
 and industry ; others to war and rapine ; others to CBse and pleasure ? (L 42 to 46). Why have 
 the norlLern people overspread, in all ages, and prevailed over the southern ? (I. iQ to 58). 
 Why has Asia been, time out of mind, the seat of despotism, and Europe that of freedom ? 
 CI. 59 to 64). Are we from these instances to imagine men necessarily enslaved to the incon- 
 veniences of the climate where they were born? (l.&'t to 72). Orarewenot rather to suppose 
 there is a natural strength in the human mind, that is able to vanquish and break through 
 them? CI. 72 to 84.) It is confessed, however, that men receive an early tincture from the 
 situation they are placed in, and the climate which produces them fl. 84 to 88). Thus the 
 inhabitants of the mountains, inured to labour and patience, are naturally trained to war 
 (I. 88 to 96) ; while those of the plain are more open to any attack, and softened by ease 
 and plenty CI- 96 to 99). Again, the Egyptians, from the nature of their situation, might 
 be the inventors of home navigation, from a necessity of keeping up an intercourse 
 between their towns dui'ing the inundation of the Nile (I. 99 to***). Those persons would 
 naturally have the first turn to commerce, who inhabited a barren coast, like the Tyrians, 
 and were persecuted by some neighbouring tyrant ; or were driven to take refuge on some 
 shoals, like the Venetian and Hollander,; their discovery of some rich island, in the 
 infancy of the world, described. The Tai"tar, hardened to war by his rigorous climate and 
 pastoral hfe, and by his disputes for water and herbage in a country without land-marks, 
 as also by skirmishes between his rival clans, was consequently fitted to conquer his rich 
 southern neighbours, whom ease and luxury had enervated : yet this is no proof that 
 liberty and valour may not exist in southern climes, since the Syrians and Carthaginians 
 gave noble instances of both ; and the Arabians caiTied their conquests as far as the 
 Tartars. Rome also (for many centuries^ repulsed those very nations, which, when she 
 grew weak, at length demolished her extensive empire. 
 
STANZAS TO MR. BENTLEY. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 In silent gaze the tuneful choir among, 
 
 Half pleas'd, half blushing, let the Muse admire, 
 
 While Bentley leads her sister-art along, 
 And bids the pencil answer to the lyre. 
 
 See, in their course, each transitory thought, 
 Fix'd by his touch, a lasting essence take ; 
 
 Each dream, in fancy's airy colouring wrought, 
 To local symmetry and life awake ! 
 
 The tardy rhymes that us'd to linger on. 
 To censure cold, and negligent of fame. 
 
 In swifter measures animated run, 
 
 And catch a lustre from his genuine flame. 
 
 Ah ! -could they catch his strength, his easy grace, 
 His quick creation, his unerring line ; 
 
 The energy of Pope they might efface, 
 And Dryden's harmony submit to mine. 
 
93 
 
 But not to one in this benighted age 
 
 Is that diviner inspiration giv'n, 
 That burns in Shakspeare's or in Milton's page, 
 
 The pomp and prodigahty of heav'n. 
 
 As when conspiring in the diamond's blaze, 
 The meaner gems that singly charm the sight, 
 
 Together dart their intermingled rays. 
 And dazzle with a luxury of light. 
 
 Enough for me, if to some feeling breast 
 My lines a secret sympathy ' impart ;' 
 
 And as their pleasing influence ' flows confest,' 
 A sigh of soft reflection ' heaves the heart.' 
 
 bb 
 
SKETCH OF HIS OWN CHARACTER, 
 
 ■WEiTTEN nr 1761, and ioumd in one of his owir poce:et-books. 
 
 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 believed in a God. 
 A post or a pension he did not desire. 
 But left Church and State to Charles Townshend and 
 Squire. 
 
 AMATORY LINES. 
 
 With beauty, with pleasure surrounded, to languish — 
 To weep, without knowing the cause of my anguish ; 
 To start from short slumbers, and wish for the morning — 
 To close my dull eyes when I see it returning; 
 Sighs sudden and frequent, looks ever dejected — 
 Words that steal from my tongue, by no means con- 
 nected ! 
 Ah ! say, fellow-swains, how these symptoms befeU me ? 
 They smile, but reply not — sure Delia will tell me ! 
 
EXTRACTS. 
 
 PROPERTIUS, LIB. III. ELEG. V. v. 19. 
 
 " Me juvat in prima coluisse Helicona juventa," &c. 
 IMITATED. 
 
 Long as of youth the joyous hours remain, 
 
 Me may CastaUa's sweet recess detain. 
 
 Fast by the umbrageous vale lull'd to repose, 
 
 Where Aganippe warbles as it flows ; 
 
 Or roused by sprightly sounds from out the trance, 
 
 I'd in the ring knit hands, and join the Muses' dance. 
 
 Give me to send the laughing bowl around. 
 
 My soul in Bacchus' pleasing fetters bound ; 
 
 Let on this head unfading flowers reside, 
 
 There bloom the vernal rose's earliest pride ; 
 
 And when, our flames commission'd to destroy. 
 
 Age step 'twLKt Love and me, and intercept the joy ; 
 
 When my changed head these locks no more shall know, 
 
 And all its jetty honours turn to snow ; 
 
 Then let me rightly spell of Nature's ways ; 
 
 To Providence, to Him my thoughts I'd raise, 
 
 Who taught this vast machine its stedfast laws, 
 
 That first, eternal, universal Cause ; 
 
 Search to what regions yonder star retires. 
 
 That monthly waning hides her paly fires, 
 
 66 2 
 
96 
 
 And whence, anew rewed, with silver hght 
 Rekimes her crescent orb to cheer the dreary night : 
 How rising winds the face of ocean sweep. 
 Where lie th' eternal fountains of the deep. 
 And whence the cloudy magazines maintain 
 Their wintry war, or pour the autumnal rain ; 
 How flames perhaps, with dire confusion hurl'd. 
 Shall sink this beauteous fabric of the world ; 
 What colours paint the vivid arch of Jove ; 
 What wondrous force the solid earth can move. 
 When Pindus' self approaching ruin dreads. 
 Shakes all his pines, and bows his hundred heads ; 
 Why does yon orb, so exquisitely bright. 
 Obscure his radiance in a short -liv'd night ; 
 W^hence the Seven-Sisters' congregated fires. 
 And what Bootes' lazy waggon tires ; 
 How the rude surge its sandy bounds control ; 
 Who measured out the year, and bade the seasons roll ; 
 If realms beneath those fabled torments know, 
 Pangs without respite, fires that ever glow. 
 Earth's monster brood stretch'd on their iron bed. 
 The hissing terrors round Alecto's head, 
 Scarce to nine acres Tityus' bulk confined. 
 The triple dog that scares the shadowy kind. 
 All angry heaven inflicts, or hell can feel, 
 The pendent rock, Ixion's whirling wheel. 
 Famine at feasts, or thirst amid the stream ; 
 Or are our fears the enthusiast's empty dream, 
 And all the scenes, that hurt the grave's repose. 
 But pictiued horror and poetic woes. 
 
 These soft inglorious joys my hours engage ; 
 Be love my youth's pursuit, and science crown my age. 
 
PROPERTIUS, LIB. 11. ELEG. I. v. 17. 
 
 " Quod mihi si tantum, Mseceuas, fata dedissent," &c. 
 
 Yet would the tyrant Love permit me raise 
 My feeble voice, to sound the victor's praise^ 
 To paint the hero's toil, the ranks of war. 
 The laurel'd triumph and the sculptur'd car ; 
 No giant race, no tumult of the skies. 
 No mountain-structures in my verse should rise. 
 Nor tale of Thebes, nor Ilium there should be. 
 Nor how the Persian trod the indignant sea ; 
 Not Marius' Cimbrian wreaths would I relate. 
 Nor lofty Carthage struggling with her fate. 
 Here should Augustus great in arms appear, 
 And thou, Maecenas, be my second care ; 
 Here Mutina from flames and famine free, 
 And there the ensanguined wave of Sicily, 
 And scepter'd Alexandria's captive shore. 
 And sad Philippi, red with Roman gore : 
 Then, while the vaulted skies loud ios rend. 
 In golden chains should loaded monarchs bend. 
 And hoary Nile with pensive aspect seem 
 To mourn the glories of his sevenfold stream ; 
 While prows, that late in fierce encounter met. 
 Move through the sacred way and vainly threat. 
 
98 
 
 Thee too the Muse should consecrate to fame, 
 
 And with her garlands weave thy ever-faithful name. 
 
 But nor Callimachus' enervate strain 
 May tell of Jove, and Phlegra's blasted plain ; 
 Nor I with unaccustomed vigour trace 
 Back to its source divine the Juhan race. 
 Sailors to tell of winds and seas delight, 
 The -shepherd of his flocks, the soldier of the fight ; 
 A milder warfare I in verse display ; 
 Each in his proper art should waste the day : 
 Nor thou my gentle calling disapprove. 
 To die is glorious in the bed of Love. 
 
 Happy the youth, and not unknown to fame. 
 Whose heart has never felt a second flame. 
 Oh, might that envied happiness be mine ! 
 To Cynthia all my wishes I confine : 
 Or if, alas ! it be my fate to try 
 Another love, the quicker let me die : 
 But she, the mistress of my faithful breast. 
 Has oft the charms of constancy confest, 
 Condemns her fickle sex's fond mistake, 
 And hates the tale of Troy for Helen's sake. 
 Me from myself the soft enchantress stole ; 
 Ah ! let her ever my desires control ; 
 Or if I fall the victim of her scorn. 
 From her loved door may my pale corse be borne. 
 The power of herbs can other harms remove, 
 And find a cure for every iU, but love. 
 The Lemnian's hurt Machaon could repair, 
 Heal the slow chief, and send again to war ; 
 To Chiron Phoenix owed his long-lost sight, 
 And Phoebus' son recaU'd Androgeon to the light. 
 
99 
 
 Here arts are vain, e'en magic here must fail, 
 The powerful mixture and the midnight spell ; 
 The hand that can my captive heart release, 
 And to this bosom give its wonted peace, 
 May the long thirst of Tantalus allay. 
 Or drive the infernal vulture from his prey. 
 For ills unseen what remedy is found ? 
 Or who can probe the undiscover'd wound ? 
 The bed avails not, nor the leech's care. 
 Nor changing skies can hurt, nor sultry air. 
 'Tis hard th' elusive symptoms to explore : 
 To-day the lover walks, to-morrow is no more : 
 A train of mourning friends attend his pall. 
 And wonder at the sudden funeral. 
 
 When then the fates that breath they gave shallclaim. 
 And the short marble but preserve a name, 
 A little verse my all that shall remain ; 
 Thy passing courser's slackened speed restrain ; 
 (Thou envied honour of thy poet's days. 
 Of all our youth the ambition and the praise !) 
 Then to my quiet urn awhile draw near. 
 And say, while o'er that place you drop the tear, 
 Love and the fair were of his youth the pride : 
 He lived, while she was kind ; and when she frown'd, 
 he died. 
 
TASSO GERUS. LIB. CANT. XIV. ST. 32- 
 
 " Preser commiato, e si '1 desio gli sprona," &c, 
 
 Dismiss'd at length, they break through all delay, 
 
 To tempt the dangers of the doubtful way ; 
 
 And first to Ascalon their steps they bend, 
 
 Whose walls along the neighbouring sea extend. 
 
 Nor yet in prospect rose the distant shore ; 
 
 Scarce the hoarse waves from far were heard to roar. 
 
 When thwart the road a river roll'd its flood 
 
 Tempestuous, and all further course withstood ; 
 
 The torrent stream Ms ancient bounds disdains, 
 
 SwoU'n with new force, and late-descending rains. 
 
 Irresolute they stand ; when lo, appears 
 
 The wondrous Sage : vigorous he seem'd in years, 
 
 Awful his mien, low as his feet there flows 
 
 A vestment unadorn'd, though white as new-fall'n snows ; 
 
 Against the stream the waves secure he trod. 
 
 His head a chaplet bore, his hand a rod. 
 
 As on the Khine, when Boreas' fury reigns, 
 And winter binds the floods in icy chains. 
 Swift shoots the village-maid in rustic play 
 Smooth, without step, adown the shining way. 
 Fearless in long excursion loves to glide, 
 And sports and wantons o'er the frozen tide ; — 
 
101 
 
 So mov'd the Seer, but on no hardened plain ;: 
 
 The river boil'd beneath, and rush'd toward the main. 
 
 Where fix'd in wonder stood the warhke pair. 
 
 His course he turn'd, and thus reliev'd their care : — 
 
 " Vast, oh my friends, and difficult the toil 
 To seek your hero in a distant soil ! 
 No common helps, no common guide ye need ; 
 Art it requires, and more than winged speed. 
 What length of sea remains, what various lands. 
 Oceans unknown, inhospitable sands ! 
 For adverse fate the captive chief has hurl'd 
 Beyond the confines of our narrow world : 
 Great things and full of wonder in your ears 
 I shall unfold ; but first dismiss your fears ; 
 Nor doubt with me to tread the downward road 
 That to the grotto leads, my dark abode." 
 
 Scarce had he said, before the warriors' eyes. 
 When mountain-high the waves disparted rise ; 
 The flood on either hand its billows rears. 
 And in the midst a spacious arch appears. 
 Their hands he seized, and down the steep he led 
 Beneath the obedient river's inmost bed ; 
 The watery glimmerings of a fainter day 
 Discover'd half, and half conceal'd their way ; 
 As when athwart the dusky woods by night 
 The uncertain crescent gleams a sickly light. 
 Through subterraneous passages they went, 
 Earth's inmost cells, and caves of deep descent ; 
 Of many a flood they view'd the secret source, 
 The birth of rivers rising to their course, 
 Whate'er with copious train its channel fills, 
 Floats into lakes, and bubbles into rills ; 
 
103 
 
 The Po was there to see, Danubius' bed, 
 
 Euphrates' fount, and Nile's mysterious head. 
 
 Further they pass, where ripening minerals flow, 
 
 And embryon metals undigested glow, 
 
 Sulphureous veins and living silver shine. 
 
 Which soon the parent sun's warm powers refine. 
 
 In one rich mass unite the precious store. 
 
 The parts combine and harden into ore : 
 
 Here gems break through the night with glittering beam. 
 
 And paint the margin of the costly stream, 
 
 AU stones of lustre shoot their vivid ray, 
 
 And mix attemper'd in a various day ; 
 
 Here the soft emerald smiles of verdant hue. 
 
 And rubies flame, with sapphire's heavenly blue. 
 
 The diamond there attracts the wondrous sight. 
 
 Proud of its thousand dies and luxury of hght. 
 
DE PRINCIPIIS COGITANDI. 
 
Ille sub umbrosse qui stratus frondibus ulmi 
 
 Cantavit fastos ruricolasque senes ; 
 Et quos concipiant juvenilia pectora sensus ; 
 
 Ut varia tumeant spe trepidentque metu ; 
 Et spirare ausus fidibus graviora Britannis 
 
 Pindarico grandes protulit ore modos : 
 Idem etiam ingenio penetravit condita rerum, 
 
 Naturae csecas introiitque vias ; 
 Nee metuit versu puer illustrare Latino 
 
 Arcanos Sopbise difBcilesque locos. 
 Explicuit doctus quo tandem percita motu 
 
 Incipiat vires mens agitare suas : 
 Quo derivetur primum edita fonte potestas 
 
 Ilia sagax animi mirificusque vigor. 
 Inter Etonenses conscriptus nempe catervas. 
 
 Cum vemos ageret jam tener ille dies, 
 Ingenium angustos intra compescere fines 
 
 Sprevit, et audaci ponere frsena fugse ; 
 Vulgaresque sequi puer indignatus honores, 
 
 Materie struxit nobUiore modos. 
 
106 
 
 Doctus Socratici quid pagina ferret alumni, 
 
 Discipuioque daret quas Academus opes, 
 Corporeo victor resolutus carcere, mentis 
 
 Excursu voluit liberiore frui. 
 Ergo Pieriam dignus gestare coronam 
 
 Romano vates Anglus honore nitet ; 
 Ingenioque potens et magno carmine, sedes 
 
 Nomen ad setliereas tollit, Etona, tuum ! 
 
 W. G. C. 
 
 Eton*, 
 
 mdcooxlt. 
 
DE PRINCIPIIS COGITANDL 
 
 LIBER PRIMUS. 
 
 AD FAVONIUM. 
 
 Unde Animus scire incipiat : quibus inclioet orsa 
 Principiis seriem rerum, tenuemque catenam 
 Mnemosyne ; Ratio unde rudi sub pectore tardum 
 Augeat imperium ; et primum mortalibus segris 
 Ira, Dolor, Metus, et Curse nascantur inanes, 5 
 
 Hinc canere aggredior. Nee dedignare canentem, 
 decus ! Angliacffi certe O lux altera gentis ! 
 Si qua primus iter monstras, vestigia conor 
 Signare incerta, tremulaque insistere planta. 
 Quin potius due ipse (potes namque omnia) sanctum lo 
 Ad limen, (si rite adeo, si pectore puro,) 
 Obscarse reserans Naturae ingentia claustra. 
 Tu caecas rerum causas, fontemque severum 
 Pande, Pater ; tibi enim, tibi, veri magne Sacerdos, 
 Corda patent hominum, atque altse penetralia Mentis. 15 
 
 Tuque aures adhibe vacuas, facilesque, Favoni, 
 (Quod tibi crescit opus) simplex nee despice carmen. 
 Nee vatem : non ilia leves primordia motus, 
 Quanquam parva, dabunt. Leetum vel amabile quicquid 
 Usquam oritur, trahit hinc ortum ; nee sm-git ad auras, 30 
 
108 
 
 Quin ea conspirent simul, eventusque secundent. 
 
 Hinc varise vitai artes, ac moUior usus, 
 
 Dulce et amicitise vinclum : Sapientia dia 
 
 Hinc roseum accendit lumen, vultuque sereno 
 
 Human as aperit mentes, nova gaudia monstrans, 35 
 
 Deformesque fugat curas, vanosque timores : 
 
 Scilicet et rerum crescit pulcherrima Virtus. 
 
 Ilia etiam, quae te (mirum !) noctesque diesque 
 
 Assidue fovet inspirans, linguamque sequentem 
 
 Temperat in numeros, atque horas mulcet inertes ; 30 
 
 Aurea non alia se jactat origine Musa. 
 
 Principio, ut magnum foedus Natura creatrix 
 Firmavit, tardis jussitque inolescere membris 
 Sublimes animas ; tenebroso in carcere partem 
 Noluit setheream longo torpere vetemo : ^s 
 
 Nee per se proprium passa exercere vigorem est, 
 Ne socise molis conjunctos sperneret artus, 
 Ponderis oblita, et coelestis conscia flammse. 
 Idcirco innumero ductu tremere undique fibras 
 Nervorum instituit : tum toto corpore miscens 40 
 
 Implicuit late ramos, et sensile textum, 
 Implevitque humore sue (seu lympha vocanda, 
 Sive ama est) tenuis certe, atque levissima qusedam 
 Vis versatur agens, parvosque infusa canales 
 Perfluit ; assidue externis quae concita plagis, 45 
 
 Mobilis, incussique fidelis nuntia motus, 
 Hinc inde accensa contage relabitm' usque 
 Ad superas hominis sedes, arcemque cerebri. 
 Namque illic posuit solium, et sua templa sacravit 
 Mens animi : banc circum coeunt, densoque fex'mitur 50 
 Agmine notitise, simulacraque tenuia rerum : 
 Ecce autem naturse ingens aperitur imago 
 Immensse, variique patent commercia mundi. 
 
109 
 
 Ac uti longinquis descendunt montibus amnes 
 Velivolus Tamesis, flaventisque Indus arense, SS 
 
 Euphratesque, Tagusque, et opimo flumine Ganges, 
 Undas quisque suas volvens, cursuque sonoro 
 In mare prorumpunt : hos magno acclinis in antro 
 Excipit Oceanus, natorumque ordine longo 
 Dona recognoscit venientum, ultroque serenat 60 
 
 Cseruleam faciem, et diffuse marmore ridet. 
 Haud aliter species properant se inferre novelise 
 Certatim menti, atque aditus quino agmine complent. 
 
 Primas tactus agit partes, primusque minutse 
 Laxat iter CEecum turbse, recipitque ruentem. 6^ 
 
 Non idem huic modus est, qui fratribus : amplius ille 
 Imperium affectat senior, penitusque medullis, 
 Visceribusque habitat totis, pellisque recentem 
 Punditur in telam, et late per stamina vivit. 
 Necdum etiam matris puer eluctatus ab alvo 70 
 
 Multiplices solvit tunicas, et vincula rupit ; 
 Sopitus moUi somno, tepidoque liquore 
 Circumfusus adhuc : tactus tamen aura lacessit 
 Jamdudum levior sensus, animamque reclusit. 
 Idque magis simul, ac solitum blandumque calorem 75 
 Frigore mutavit coeli, quod verberat acri 
 Impete inassuetos artus : tum saevior adstat, 
 Humanseque comes vitae Dolor excipit : ille 
 Cunctantem frustra et tremulo multa ore querentem 
 Corripit invadens, ferreisque amplectitur ulnis. 80 
 
 Tum species primum patefacta est Candida Lucis 
 (Usque vices adeo Natura bonique, malique, 
 Exsequat, justaque manu sua damna rependit) 
 Tum primum, ignotosque bibunt nova lumina soles. 
 
 Carmine quo, Dea, te dicam, gratissima coeli 85 
 
 Progenies, ortumque tuum : gemmantia rore 
 
no 
 
 Ut per prata levi lustras, et floribus halans 
 Purpureum Veris gremium, scenamque virentem 
 Pingis, et umbriferos colles, et cserula regna ? 
 Gratia te, Venerisque Lepos, et mille Colorum, 90 
 
 Pormarumque chorus sequitur, Motusque decentes. 
 At caput invisum Stygiis Nox atra tenebris 
 Abdidit, horrendseque simul Pormidinis ora, 
 Pervigilesque sestus Curarum, atque anxius Angor : 
 Undique Lsetitia florent mortalia corda, 95 
 
 Purus et arridet largis fulgoribus iEther. 
 
 Omnia nee tu ideo invalidse se pandere Menti 
 (Quippe nimis teneros posset vis tanta diei 
 Perturbare, et inexpertos confundere visus) 
 Nee capere infantes animos, neu cernere credas 100 
 
 Tam variam molem, et mirse spectacula lucis : 
 Nescio qua tamen hsec oculos dulcedine parvos 
 Splendida percussit novitas, traxitque sequentes ; 
 Nonne videmus enim, latis inserta fenestris 
 Sicubi se Phoebi dispergant aurea tela, 1 05 
 
 Sive lucernarum rutilus colluxerit ardor, 
 Extemplo hue obverti aciem, quae fixa repertos 
 Haurit inexpletum radios, fruiturque tuendo. 
 
 Altior huic vero sensu, majorque videtur 
 Addita, Judicioque arete connexa potestas, no 
 
 Quod simul atque setas volventibus auxerit annis, 
 Hsec simul, assiduo depaseens omnia visu, 
 Perspiciet, vis quanta loci, quid poUeat ordo, 
 Juncturse quis honos, ut res accendere rebus 
 Lumina conjurant inter se, et mutua fulgent. 115 
 
 Nee minor in geminis viget auribus insita virtus, 
 Nee tantum in curvis quse pervigil exeubet antris 
 Hinc atque hinc (ubi Vox tremefecerit ostia pulsu 
 Aeriis invecta rotis) longeque recurset : 
 
Ill 
 
 Scilicet Eloquio hsec sonitus, haec fulminis alas, ^ao 
 
 Et mulcere dedit dictis et toUere corda, 
 
 Verbaque metiri numeris, versuque ligare 
 
 Repperit, et quicquid discant Libethrides undse, 
 
 Calliope quoties, quoties Pater ipse canendi 
 
 Evolvat liquidiim carmen, calamove loquenti i a^ 
 
 Inspiret duJces animas, digitisque figuret. 
 
 At medias fauces, et linguae humentia templa 
 Gustus habet, qua se insinuet jucunda saporum 
 Luxuries, dona Autumni, Bacchique voluptas. 
 
 Naribus interea consedit odora hominum vis, 130 
 
 Docta leves captare auras, Pancliaia quales 
 Vere novo exhalat, Florseve quod oscula fragrant 
 Roscida, cum Zephyri furtim sub vesperis hora 
 Respondet votis, moUemque aspirat amorem. 
 
 Tot portas altse capitis circumdedit arci 135 
 
 Alma Parens, sensusque vias per membra reclusit ; 
 Haud solas : namque intus agit vivata facultas, 
 Qua sese explorat, contemplatusque repente 
 Ipse suas animus vires, momentaque cernit. 
 Quid velit, aut possit, cupiat, fugiatve, vicissim 140 
 
 Percipit imperio gaudens ; neque corpora fallunt 
 Morigera ad celeres actus, ac numina mentis. 
 
 Qualis Hamadryadum quondam si forte sororum 
 Una, novos peragrans saltus, et devia rura ; 
 (Atque illam in viridi suadet procumbere ripa 145 
 
 Fontis pura quies, et opaci frigoris umbra) 
 Dum prona in latices speculi de margine pendet, 
 Mirata est subitam venienti occurrere Nympham : 
 Mox eosdem, quos ipsa, artus, eadem ora gerentem 
 Una inferre gradus, una succedere sylvse 150 
 
 Aspicit alludens ; seseque agnoscit in undis. 
 Sic sensu interno rerum simulacra suarum 
 
 dd2 
 
112 
 
 Mens ciet, et proprios observat conscia vultus. 
 
 Nee vero simplex ratio, aut jus omnibus unum 
 
 Constat imaginibus. Sunt quse bina ostia norunt j 155 
 
 Has privos servant aditus ; sine legibus illae 
 
 Passim, qua data porta, ruunt, animoque propinquant. 
 
 Respice, cui a cunis tristes extinxit ocellos, 
 
 Sseva et in seternas mersit natura tenebras : 
 
 Illi ignofa dies lucet, vernusque colorum 160 
 
 Offusus nitor est, et vivse gratia formse. 
 
 Corporis at filum, et motus, spatiumque, locique 
 
 Intervalla datur certo dignoscere tactu : 
 
 Quandoquidem his iter ambiguum est, et janua duplex, 
 
 Exclusseque oculis species irrumpere tendunt 165 
 
 Per digitos. Atqui solis concessa potestas 
 
 Luminibus blandae est radios immittere lucis. 
 
 Undique proporro sociis, quacunque patescit 
 Notitise campus, mistse lasciva feruntur 
 Turba voluptatis comites, formaeque dolorum 170 
 
 Terribiles visu, et porta glomerantur in omni. 
 
 Nee vario minus introitu magnum ingruit illud. 
 Quo facere et fungi, quo res existere circum 
 Quamque sibi proprio cum corpore scimus, et ire 
 Ordine, perpetuoque per aevum flumine labi. 175 
 
 Nunc age quo valeat pacto, qua sensilis arte 
 AiFectare viam, atque animi tentare latebras 
 Materies (dictis aures adverte faventes) 
 Exsequar. Imprimis spatii quam multa per aequor 
 Millia multigenis pandant se corpora seclis, 180 
 
 Expende. Haud unum invenies, quod mente licebit 
 Amplecti, nedum propius deprendere sensu, 
 Molis egens certse, aut solido sine robore, cujus 
 Denique mobilitas linquit, texturave partes, 
 XJlla nee orarum circumcsesura coercet. 185 
 
113 
 
 Hsec conjuncta adeo tota compage fatetur 
 
 Mundus, et extreme clamant in limine rerum, 
 
 (Si rebus datur extremum) primordia. Firmat 
 
 Hsec eadem tactus (tactum quis dicere falsum 
 
 Audeat ?) hgec oculi nee lucidus arguit orbis. 190 
 
 Inde potestatum enasci densissima proles ; 
 Nam quodcunque ferit visum, tangive laborat, . 
 
 Quicquid nare bibis, vel concava concipit auris, 
 Quicquid lingua sapit, credas hoc omne, necesse est 
 Ponderibus, textu, discursu, mole, figura 195 
 
 Particulas prsestare leves, et semina rerum. 
 Nunc oculos igitur pascunt, et luce ministra 
 Fulgere cuncta vides, spargique coloribus orbem, 
 Dum de sole trabunt alias, aliasque superne 
 Detorquent, retroque decent se vertere flammas. 300 
 Nunc trepido inter se fervent corpuscula pulsu, 
 Ut tremor sethera per magnum, lateque natantes 
 Aurarum fluctus avidi vibrantia claustra 
 Auditus queat allabi, sonitumque propaget. 
 Cominus interdum non ullo interprete per se 305 
 
 Nervorum invadunt teneras quatientia fibras, 
 Sensiferumque urgent ultro per viscera motum. 
 
114 
 
 LIBER QUARTUS. 
 
 Hactenus baud segnis Naturae arcana retexi 
 Musarum interpres, primusque Britanna per arva 
 Romano liquidum deduxi flumine rivum. 
 Cum Tu opere in medio, spes tanti et causa laboris, 
 Linquis, et seternam fati te condis in umbram ! 5 
 
 Vidi egomet duro graviter concussa dolore 
 Pectora, in altering 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. lo 
 
 Visa tamen tardi demum inclementia morbi 
 Cessare est, reducemque iterum roseo ore Salutem 
 Speravi, atque una tecum, dilecte Favoni ! 
 Credulus heu longos, ut quondam, fallere Soles. 
 Heu spes nequicquam dulces, atque irrita vota ! 15 
 
 Heu moestos 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 eetheris igne, 
 Unde orta es, fruere ; atque si secura, nee ultra %o 
 Mortalis, notos olim miserata labores 
 Respectes, tenuesque vacet cognoscere curas ; 
 Humanam si forte alta de sede procellam 
 Contemplere, metus, stimulosque cupidinis acres, 
 Gaudiaque et gemitus, parvoque in corde tumultum 25 
 Irarum ingentem, et ssevos sub pectore fluctus ; 
 Respice et has lacrymas, memori quas ictus amore 
 Fundo ; quod possum, juxta lugere sepulchrum 
 Dum juvat, et mutae vana haec jactare favillae. 
 
MINOR LATIN POEMS. 
 
P E M A T A. 
 
 VERSES 
 
 ON THE MARRIAGE OE HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS 
 THE PRINCE OF WALES. 
 
 iGNARiE nostrum mentes, et inertia corda, 
 Dum curas regum, et sortem miseramur iniquam, 
 Quae solio affixit, vetuitque calescere flamma 
 Dulci, quae dono divum, gratissima serpit 
 Viscera per, moUesque animis lene implicat eestus ; 5 
 Nee teneros sensus, Veneris nee prsemia norunt, 
 Eloquiumve oculi, aut facunda silentia linguae. 
 Scilicet ignorant lacrymas, ssevosque dolores, 
 Dura rudimenta, et violentse exordia flammae ; 
 Scilicet ignorant, quae flumine tinxit amaro 10 
 
 Tela Venus, caeciqiie armamentaria Divi, 
 Irasque, insidiasque, et taciturn sub pectore vulnus ; 
 Namque sub ingressu, primoque in limine Amoris 
 Luctus et ultrices posuere cubilia Curae ; 
 Intus habent dulces Risus, et Gratia sedem, 15 
 
 Et roseis resupina toris, roseo ore Voluptas : 
 Regibus hue faciles aditus ; communia spernunt 
 Ostia, jamque expers duris custodibus istis 
 Panditur accessus, penetraliaque intima Templi. 
 
118 
 
 Tuque Oh ! Angliacis, Princeps, spes optima regnis, ao 
 Ne tantum, ne finge metum : quid imagine captus 
 Hseres, et mentem pictura pascis inani ? 
 Umbram miraris : nee longum tempus, et ipsa 
 Ibit in amplexus, thalamosque ornabit ovantes. 
 lUe tamen tabulis inhians longum haurit amorem, 35 
 Affatu fruitur tacito, auscultatque tacentem 
 Immemor artificis calami, risumque, ruboremque 
 Aspicit in fucis, pictseque in virginis ore : 
 Tanta Venus potuit ; tantus tenet error amantes. 
 
 Nascere, magna Dies, qua sese Augusta Britanno 30 
 Committat Pelago, patriamque relinquat amoenam ; 
 Cujus in adventum jam nunc tria regna secundos 
 Attolli in plausus, dulcique accensa furore 
 Incipiunt agitare modos, et carmina dicunt : 
 Ipse animo sed enim juvenis comitatur euntem, 35 
 
 Explorat ventos, atque auribus aera captat, 
 Atque auras, atque astra vocat crudelia ; pectus 
 Intentum exultat, surgitque arrecta cupido ; 
 Incusat spes segra fretum, solitoque videtur 
 Latior efFundi pontus, fluctusque morantes. 40 
 
 Nascere, Lux major, qua sese Augusta Britanno 
 Committat juveni totam, propriamque dicabit ; 
 At citius (precor) Oh ! cedas melioribus astris ; 
 Nox finem pompse, finemque imponere curis 
 Possit, et in thalamos furtim deducere nuptam ; 4^5 
 
 Sufficiat requiemque viris, et amantibus umbras : 
 Adsit Hymen, et subridens cum matre Cupido 
 Accedant, sternantque toros, ignemque ministrent ; 
 Ilicet hand pictse incandescit imagine formse 
 Ulterius juvenis, verumque agnoscit amorem. 50 
 
119 
 
 Sculptile sicut ebur, faciemque arsisse venustam 
 Pygmaliona canunt : ante banc suspiria ducit, 
 Alloquiturque amens, flammamque et vulnera narrat ; 
 Implorata Venus jussit cum vivere signum, 
 Foemineam inspirans animam ; quae gaudia surgunt, 55 
 Audiit ut primse nascentia murmura linguae, 
 Luctari in vitam, et paulatim volvere ocellos 
 Sedulus, aspexitque nova splendescere flamma ; 
 Corripit amplexu vivam, jamque oscula jungit 
 Acria confestim, recipitque rapitque ; prioris 60 
 
 Immemor ardoris, Nymphseque oblitus eburnse. 
 
 tel 
 
LUNA HABITABILIS. 
 
 DuM Nox rorantes, non incomitata, per auras 
 Urget equos, tacitoque inducit sidera lapsu ; 
 Ultima, sed nuUi soror inficianda sororum, 
 Hue mihi, Musa ; tibi patet alti janua coeli, 
 Astra vides, nee te numeri, nee nomina fallunt. 5 
 
 Hue mihi, Diva, veni ; dulce est per aperta serena 
 Vere frui liquido, campoque errare silenti ; 
 Vere frui dulce est ; modo tu dignata petentem 
 Sis comes, et mecum gelida spatiere sub umbra. 
 Scilicet hos orbes, cceli hsee decora alta putandum est, 
 Noctis opes, nobis tantum lucere ; virumque 1 1 
 
 Ostentari oculis, nostrae laquearia terr«, 
 Ingentes scenas, vastique aulsea theatri ? 
 Oh ! quis me pennis sethrse super ardua sistet 
 Mirantem, propiusque dabit convexa tueri; 15 
 
 Teque adeo, unde fluens reficit lux moUior arva 
 Pallidiorque dies, tristes solata tenebras ? 
 
 Sic ego, subridens Dea sic ingressa vicissim : 
 Non pennis opus hie, supera ut simul ilia petamus : 
 Disce, Puer, potius coelo deducere Lunam ; 20 
 
 Neu crede ad magicas te invitum aecingier artes, 
 Thessalicosve modos ; ipsam descendere Phoeben 
 
121 
 
 Conspicies novus Endymion ; seque ofFeret ultro 
 Visa tibi ante oculos, et nota major imago. 
 
 Quin tete admoveas (tumuli super aggere spectas,) 
 Compositum tubulo ; simul imum invade canalem 36 
 Sic intenta acie, coeli simul alta patescent 
 Atria ; jamque, ausus Lunaria visere regna, 
 Ingrediere solo, et caput inter nubila condes. 
 
 Ecce autem ! vitri se in vertice sistere Phoeben 30 
 Cernis, et Oceanum, et crebris Freta consita terris 
 Panditur ille atram faciem caligine condens 
 Sublustri ; refugitque oculos, fallitque tuentem ; 
 Integram Solis lucem quippe haurit aperto 
 Fluctu avidus radiorum, et longos imbibit ignes : 35 
 Verum his, quae, maculis variata nitentibus, auro 
 Cserula discernunt, celso sese insula dorso 
 Plurima protrudit, prsetentaque littora saxis ; 
 Liberior datur his quoniam natura, minusque 
 Lumen depascunt liquidum ; sed tela diei 40 
 
 Detorquent, retroque docent se vertere flammas. 
 
 Hinc longos videas tractus, terrasque jacentes 
 Ordine candenti, et claros se attollere montes ; 
 Montes queis Rhodope assurgat, quibus Ossa nivali 
 Vertice : turn scopulis infra pendentibus antra 45 
 
 Nigrescunt clivorum umbra, nemorumque tenebris. 
 Non rores illi, aut desunt sua nubila mundo ; 
 Non frigus gelidum, atque herbis gratissimus imber ; 
 His quoque nota ardet picto Thaumantias arcu, 
 Os roseum Aurorse, propriique crepuscula coeli. 50 
 
 Et dubitas tantum certis cultoribus orbem 
 Destitui ? exercent agros, sua moenia condunt 
 Hi quoque, vel Martem invadunt, curantque triumphos 
 Victores : sunt hie etiam sua prsemia laudi ; 
 His metus, atque amor, et mentem mortalia tangunt. 
 
122 
 
 Quin, uti nos oculis jam nunc juvat ire per arva, ^6 
 Lucentesque plagas Lunae, pontumque profundum ; 
 Idem illos etiam ardor agit, cum se aureus effert 
 Sub sudum globus, et terrarum ingentior orbis ; 
 Scilicet omne aequor turn lustrant, scilicet omnem 60 
 Tellurem, gentesque polo sub utroque jacentes ; 
 Et quidam sestivi indefessus ad setheris ignes 
 Pervigilat, noctem exercens, coelumque fatigat ; 
 Jam Galli apparent, jam se Germania late 
 Tollit, et albescens pater Apenninus ad auras ; 6^ 
 
 Jam tandem in Borean, en ! parvulus Anglia nsevus 
 (Quanquam aliis longe fulgentior) extulit oras ; 
 Formosum extemplo lumen, maculamque nitentem 
 Invisunt crebri Proceres, serumque tuendo 
 Haerent, certatimque suo cognomine signant : 70 
 
 Forsitan et Lunse longinquus in orbe Tyrannus 
 Se dominum vocat, et nostra se jactat in aula. 
 
 Terras possim alias propiori sole calentes 
 Narrare, atque alias, jubaris queis pai'cior usus, 
 Lunarum chorus, et tenuis penuria Phcebi ; yj 
 
 Ni, meditans eadem hsec audaci evolvere cantu. 
 Jam pulset citharam soror, et prseludia tentet. 
 
 Non tamen has proprias laudes, nee facta silebo 
 Jampridem in fatis, patriseque oracula famse. 
 Tempus erit, sursum totos contendere ccetus 80 
 
 Quo cernes longo excursu, primosque colonos 
 Migrare in lunam, et notos mutare Penates : 
 Dum stupet obtutu tacito vetus incola, longeque 
 Insolitas explorat aves, classemque volantem. 
 
 Ut quondam ignotum marmor, camposque natantes 
 Tranavit Zephyros visens, nova regna, Columbus ; 86 
 Litora mirantur circum, mii-antur et undse 
 luclusas acies ferro, turmasque biformes, 
 
123 
 
 Monstraque foeta armis, et non imitabile fulmen. 
 Foedera mox icta, et gemini commercia mundi, 90 
 Agminaque assueto glomerata sub sethere cerno. 
 Anglia, quae pelagi jamdudum torquet habenas, 
 Exercetque frequens ventos, atque imperat undae ; 
 Aeris attoUet fasces, veteresque triumphos 
 Hue etiam feret, et victis dominabitur auris. 95 
 
SAPPHIC ODE— TO MR. WEST. 
 
 Barbaras aedes aditure mecum 
 Quas Eris semper fovet inquieta, 
 Lis ubi late sonat, et togatum 
 
 ^stuat agmen ; 
 
 Dulcius quanto, patulis sub ulmi 
 Hospitse ramis temere jacentem 
 Sic libris horas, tenuique inertes 
 
 Fallere Musa ? 
 
 Ssepe enim curis vagor expedita 
 
 Mente ; dum, blandam meditans Camoenam, 
 
 Vix malo rori, meminive serae 
 
 Cedere nocti ; 
 
 Et, pedes quo me rapiunt, in omni 
 Colle Parnassum videor videre 
 Eertilem sylvae, gelidamque in omni 
 Fonte Aganippen. 
 
125 
 
 Risit et Ver me, facilesque Nymphs 
 Nare captantem, nee inelegant!, 
 Mane quicquid de violis eundo 
 
 Surripit aura : 
 
 Me reclinatum teneram per herbam ; 
 Qua leves cursus aqua cunque ducit, 
 Et moras dulci strepitu lapillo 
 
 Nectit in omni. 
 
 Hse novo nostrum fere pectus anno 
 Simplices curse tenuere, coelum 
 Quamdiu sudum explicuit Favoni 
 Purior hora : 
 
 Otia et campos nee adhuc relinquo, 
 Nee magis Phoebo Clytie fidelis ; 
 (Ingruant venti licet, et senescat 
 
 MoUior sestas :) 
 
 Namque, seu, Igetos hominum labores 
 Prataque et montes recreante curru, 
 Purpura tractus oriens Eoos 
 
 Vestit, et auro ; 
 
 Sedulus servo veneratus orbem 
 Prodigum splendoris ; amceniori 
 Sive dilectam meditatur igne 
 
 Pingere Calpen ; 
 
 // 
 
126 
 
 Usque dum, fulgore magis magis jam 
 Languido circum, variata Bubes 
 Labitur furtim, viridisque in umbras 
 Scena recessit. 
 
 O ego felix, vice si (nee unquam 
 Surgerem rursus) simili cadentem 
 Parca me lenis sineret quieto 
 
 Fallere Letho ! 
 
 Multa flagranti radiisque cincto 
 Integris ah ! quam nihil inviderem. 
 Cum Dei ardentes medius quadrigas 
 Sentit Olympus. 
 
ALCAIC FRAGMENT. 
 
 O LACRYMABUM fons, tenero sacros 
 Ducentium ortus ex animo ; quater 
 Felix ! in imo qui scatentem 
 Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit. 
 
 LATIN LINES 
 
 ADDRESSED TO MR. WEST, FROM GENOA. 
 
 HoRRiDOS tractus, Boreseque linquens 
 Regna Taurini fera, moUiorem 
 Advehor brumam, Genugeque amantes 
 Litora soles. 
 
 ELEGIAC VERSES, 
 
 OCCASIONED BY THE SIGHT OE THE PLAINS WHERE 
 THE BATTLE OF TREBIA WAS FOUGHT. 
 
 Qua Trebie glaucas salices intersecat unda, 
 
 Arvaque Romanis nobilitata malis ; 
 Visus adhuc amnis veteri de clade rubere, 
 
 Et suspirantes ducere moeatus aquas ; 
 Maurorumque ala, et nigrse increbescere turmse, 
 
 Et pulsa Ausonidum ripa sonare fuga. 
 
 //a 
 
CARMEN AD C. FAVONIUM ZEPHYRINUM. 
 
 Mater rosarum, cui tenerae vigent 
 Aurse Favoni, cui Venus it comes 
 Lasciva, Nympharum choreis 
 Et volucrum celebrata cantu ! 
 
 Die, non inertem fallere qua diem 
 Amat sub umbra, seu sinit aureum 
 Dormire plectrum, seu retentat 
 Pierio Zephyrinus antro 
 
 Furore dulci plenus, et immemor 
 Reptantis inter frigora Tusculi 
 Umbrosa, vel coUes Amici 
 Palladise superantis Albse. 
 
 DUecta Fauno, et capripedum choris 
 Pineta, testor vos, Anio minax 
 Qusecunque per clivos volutus 
 Prsecipiti tremefecit amne, 
 
 Tllius altum Tibur, et ^sulse 
 Audisse sjdvas nomen amabiles, 
 Illius et gratas Latinis 
 Na'isin ingeminasse rupes ; 
 
 Nam me Latinse Naides uvida 
 Videre ripa, qua niveas levi 
 Tam s?epe lavit rore plumas 
 Dulce canens Venusinus ales ; 
 
129 
 
 Mirum ! canenti conticuit nemus, 
 Sacrique fontes, et retinent adhuc 
 (Sic Musa jussit) saxa molles 
 Docta modos, veteresque lauri. 
 
 Mirare nee tu me citharge rudem 
 Claudis laborantem numeris : loca 
 Amoena, jucundumque ver in- 
 compositum docuere carmen ; 
 
 Haerent sub omni nam folio nigri 
 Phoebea luci (credite) somnia, 
 Argutiusque et lympha et aurse 
 Nescio quid solito loquuntur. 
 
 A FAREWELL TO FLORENCE. 
 
 * * Oh Fsesulge amoena 
 Frigoribus juga, nee nimium spirantibus auris ! 
 Alma quibus Tusci Pallas deeus Apennini 
 Esse dedit, glaueaque sua canescere sylva ! 
 Non ego vos posthac Arni de valle videbo 
 Porticibus circum, et candenti cineta corona 
 Villarum longe nitido consurgere dorso, 
 Antiquamve ^dem, et veteres prseferre Cupressus 
 Mirabor, tectisque super pendentia tecta. 
 
FRAGMENT OF A LATIN POEM ON MOUNT 
 GAURUS. 
 
 Nec procul infelix se toUit in aethera Gaurus, 
 Prospiciens vitreum lugenti vertice pontum : 
 Tristior ille diu, et veteri desuetus oliva 
 Gaurus, pampineaeque eheu ! jam nescius umbrae ; 
 Horrendi tarn sseva premit vicinia montis, 
 Attonitumque urget latus, exuritque ferentem. 
 
 Nam fama est olim, media dum rura silebant 
 Nocte, Deo victa, et molli perfusa quiete, 
 Infremuisse aequor ponti, auditamque per omnes 
 Late tellurem surdum immugire cavernas : 
 Quo sonitu nemora alta tremunt : tremit excita tuto 
 Parthenopsea sinu, flammantisque ora Vesevi. 
 At subito se aperire solum, vastosque recessus 
 Pandere sub pedibus, nigraque voragine fauces ; 
 Turn piceas cinerum glomerare sub aethere nubes 
 Vorticibus rapidis, ardentique imbre procellam. 
 Prsecipites fugere ferae, perque avia longe 
 Sylvarum fugit pastor, juga per deserta, 
 Ah, miser ! increpitans saepe alta voce per umbram 
 Nequicquam natos, creditque audire sequentes. 
 Atque ille excelso rupis de vertice solus 
 Respectans notasque domos, et dulcia regna, 
 Nil usquam videt infelix praeter mare tristi 
 Lumine percussum, et pallentes sulpliure campos 
 Fumumque, flaminasque, rotataque turbine saxa. 
 
 Quin ubi detonuit fragor, et lux reddita coelo ; 
 Maestos confluere agricolas, passuque videres 
 Tandem iterum timido deserta requirere tecta : 
 
131 
 
 Sperantes, si forte oculis, si forte darentur 
 Uxorum cineres, miserorumve ossa parentum 
 (Tenuia, sed tanti saltern solatia luctus) 
 Una coUigere et justa componere in urna. 
 Uxorem nusquam cineres, nusquam ossa parentum 
 (Spem miseram !) assuetosve Lares, aut rura videbunt. 
 Quippe ubi planities campi diffusa jacebat ; 
 Mons novus : ille supercilium, frontemque favilla 
 Incanum ostentans, ambustis cautibus, sequor 
 Subjectum, stragemque suam, msesta arva, minaci 
 Despicit imperio, soloque in littore regnat. 
 
 Hinc infame loci nomen, multosque per annos 
 Immemor antiquse laudis, nescire labores 
 Vomeris, et nullo tellus revirescere cultu. 
 Non avium coUes, non carmine matutino 
 Pastorum resonare ; adeo undique dirus habebat 
 Informes late horror agros saltusque vacantes. 
 Ssepius et longe detorquens navita proram 
 Monstrabat digito littus, ssevseque revolvens 
 Funera narrabat noctis, veteremque ruinam. 
 
 Montis adhuc facies manet hirta atque aspera saxis : 
 Sed furor extinctus jamdudum, et flamma quievit. 
 Quae nascenti aderat ; seu forte bituminis atri 
 Defluxere olim rivi, atque effoeta lacuna 
 Pabula sufficere ardori, viresque recusat ; 
 Sive in visceribus meditans incendia jam nunc 
 (Horrendum) arcanis glomerat genti esse futurse 
 Exitio, sparsos tacitusque recolligit ignes. 
 
 Raro per clivos baud secius ordine vidi 
 Canescentem oleam : longum post tempus amicti 
 Vite virent tumuli ; patriamque revisere gaudens 
 Bacchus in assuetis tenerum caput exerit arvis 
 Vix tandem, infidoque audet se credere coelo. 
 
ALCAIC ODE, 
 
 WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM OF THE GRANDE CHARTREUSE, 
 IN DAUPHINT, AUGUST 1 74 1. 
 
 Oh Tu, severi Religio loci, 
 Quocunque gaudes nomine (non leve 
 Nativa nam certe fluenta 
 
 Numen habet, veteresque sylvas ; 
 
 Prsesentiorem et conspicimus Deum 
 Per invias rapes, fera per juga, 
 Clivosque praeruptos, sonantes 
 
 Inter aquas, nemorumque noctem ; 
 
 Quam si repostus sub trabe citrea 
 Fulgeret auro, et Phidiaca manu :) 
 Salve vocanti rite, fesso et 
 Da placidam juveni quietem. 
 
 Quod si invidendis sedibus, et frui 
 Fortuna sacra lege silentii 
 Vetat volentem, me resorbens 
 In medios violenta fluctus : 
 
 Saltem remoto des. Pater, angulo 
 Horas senectse ducere liberas ; 
 Tutumque vulgari tumuitu 
 Surripias, bominumque curis. 
 
PART OF AN HEROIC EPISTLE 
 
 FfiOM SOPHONISBA TO MASINISSA, 
 
 Egregium accipio promissi Munus amoris, 
 
 In que manu mortem, jam fruitm-a, fero : 
 Atque utinam citius mandasses, luce vel una ; 
 
 Transieram Stygios non inhonesta lacus. 
 Victoris nee passa toros, nova nupta, mariti, 
 
 Nee fueram fastus, Roma superba, tuos. 
 Scilicet lisec partem tibi, Masinissa, triumphi 
 
 Detractam, hsec pompge jura minora suae 
 Imputat, atque uxor quod non tua pressa catenis, 
 
 Objecta et ssevi plausibus orbis eo : 
 Quin tu pro tantis cepisti prsemia factis, 
 
 Magnum Romanse pignus amicitise ! 
 Scipiadse excuses, oro, si tardius utar 
 
 Munere. Non nimium vivere, crede, velim. 
 Parva mora est, breve sed tempus mea fama requirit 
 
 Detinet hsec animam cura suprema meam. 
 Quae patriae prodesse meae Regina ferebar. 
 
 Inter Elisaeas gloria prima nurus, 
 Ne videar flammae nimis indulsisse secundae, 
 
 Vel nimis hostiles extimuisse manus. 
 Fortunam atque annos liceat revocare priores, 
 
 Gaudiaque lieu ! quantis nostra repensa malis. 
 Primitiasne tuas meministi atque arma Syphacis 
 
 Fusa, et per Tyi:ias ducta tropaea vias ? 
 
134 
 
 (Laudis at antiquse forsan meminisse pigebit, 
 
 Quodque decus quondam causa ruboris erit ;) 
 Tempus ego certe memini, felicia Poenis 
 
 Quo te non puduit solvere vota deis ; 
 Moeniaque intrantem vidi : longo agmine duxit 
 
 Turba salutantum, purpureique patres. 
 Foeminea ante omnes longe admiratur eantem, 
 
 Hseret et aspectu tota caterva tuo. 
 Jam flexi, regale decus, per colla capiUi, 
 
 Jam decet ardenti fuscus in ore color ! 
 Commendat frontis generosa modestia formam, 
 
 Seque cupit laudi surripuisse suae. 
 Prima genas tenui signat vix flore juventas, 
 
 Et dextrae soli credimus esse virum. 
 Dum faciles gradiens oculos per singula jactas, 
 
 (Seu rexit casus lamina, sive Venus) 
 In me (vel certe visum est) conversa morari 
 
 Sensi ; virgineus perculit ora pudor. 
 Nescio quid vultum moUe spirare tuendo, 
 
 Credideramque tuos lentius ire pedes. 
 Quserebam, juxta aequalis si dignior esset, 
 
 Quae poterat visus detinuisse tuos : 
 Nulla fuit circum aequalis quae dignior esset, 
 
 Asseruitque decus conscia forma suum. 
 Pompae finis erat. Tota vix nocte quievi, 
 
 Sin premat invitae lumina victa sopor, 
 Somnus habet pompas, eademque recursat imago ; 
 
 Atque iterum hesterno munere victor ades. 
 
PETRARCA, PART I. SONETTO 170- 
 
 Lasso ! ch' i' ardo, ed altri non mel crede : 
 Si crede ogni uom, se non sola colei 
 Che sovr' ogni altra, e ch' i' sola vorrei : 
 Ella non par che '1 creda, e si sel vede : 
 
 Infinita bellezza, e poca fede, 
 
 Non vedete vol '1 cor negli occhi miei ? 
 Se non fosse mia stella, i' pur devrei 
 Al fonte di pietk trovar mercede. 
 
 Quest' arder mio, di che vi cal si poco, 
 E i vostri onori in mie rime difFusi 
 Ne porian infiammar fors' ancor mille : 
 
 Ch' i' veggio nel pansier, dolce mio foco, 
 Fredda una lingua, e duo begli occhi chiusi 
 Rimaner dopo noi pien' di faville. 
 
 IMITATED. 
 
 Urge, io ; veros at nemo credidit ignes : 
 Quin credunt omnes ; dura sed ilia negat, 
 
 99 2 
 
136 
 
 Tlla negat, soli volumus cui posse probare ; 
 
 Quin videt, et visos improba dissimulat. 
 Ah, durissima mi, sed et, ah, pulcherrima rerum ! 
 
 Nonne animam in misera, Cynthia, fronte vides ? 
 Omnibus ilia pia est ; et, si non fata vetassent, 
 
 Tam longas mentem flecteret ad lacrymas. 
 Sed tamen has lacrymas, hunc tu, quem spreveris, ignem, 
 
 Carminaque auctori non bene culta suo, 
 Turba futurorvjm non ignorabit amantum : 
 
 Nos duo, cumque erimus parvus uterque cinis. 
 Jamque faces, eheu ! oculorum, et frigida lingua, 
 
 Has sine luce jacent, immemor ilia loqui ; 
 Infelix musa seternos spirabit amores, 
 
 Ardebitque urna multa favilla mea. 
 
TRANSLATIONS AND IMITATIONS, 
 
 FROM THE 'ANTHOLOGIA GR^CA/ 
 
 IN BACCHiE FURENTIS STATUAM. 
 
 lEiK(})poua TTjV fiaK^rfv ov\ rj ^vais, aXK rj Te^vrj 
 OrjKaTO, Koi fiavLrju iyKarefii^e Xidcp. 
 
 Credite, non viva est Msenas ; non spirat imago : 
 Artificis rabiem miscuit sere manus. 
 
 GREEK EPIGRAM. 
 'A^ofievos TToXvdrjpov iKTjfioXov aXaos avacraas, 
 
 Tay Seivds re/xevr] Xeiwe Kvvaye Beds, 
 MovvoL ap' eu6a kvvchv t^aOimv KXayyevaiv vXaypoi, 
 
 'AvTa\Hs Nvficpdv ayporepdv KeXaSai, 
 
138 
 IN ALEXANDRUM, iERE EFFICTUM. 
 
 Avanrire, irXaara ^iKucovie, OapaaXer} x^'-Pf 
 Sale Te^yiTa, irvp toi 6 x^^Xkos^ opfj, 
 
 ov KUT 'AXe^duSpov fjiop(j)a9 x^^^- ovksti fiipurToi 
 Yiipaai' avyyvap-r) ^oval Xiovra (pvyelu. 
 
 Quantum audet, Lysippe, manus tua ! surgit in aere 
 Spiritus, atque oculis bellicus ignis adest : 
 
 Spectate hos vultus, miserisque ignoscite Persis : 
 Quid mirum, imbelles si leo sparsit oves ? 
 
 IN MEDE^ IMAGINEM, NOBILE TIMOMACHI OPUS. 
 
 Tav oXoau MrjSeiav ot €ypa(f)€ Tifio/jLaxov X"/"? 
 
 ^aXcp Kol TEKVOts avTipLeOeXKopiivav , 
 fivplov aparo p^oxOov, Iv ydea Biacra X'^P^^Vy 
 
 a>v TO fiev els bpyav veve, to 8' els eXeou. 
 ap(pco 8 iirXrjpuxrev. opa tvttou. ev yap aTretAa 
 
 8aKpvov, iv & iXecp Ovpos avaxTTpe^eTUL. 
 'ApK€L 5' a fJL€XXr](ris, e(pa (ro(j)os' alp.a Se TtKvmv 
 
 eirpewe M.rj8eLr}, kov X'^P'- Tt/xo/ia^ou. 
 
 En ubi Medese varius dolor sestuat ore, 
 
 Jamque animum nati, jamque maritus, habent ! 
 
 Succenset, miseret, medio exardescit amore, 
 Dum furor inque oculo gutta minante tremit. 
 
 Cernis adhuc dubiam ; quid enim ? licet impia matris 
 Colchidos, at non sit dextera Timomachi. 
 
139 
 
 IN NIOBES STATUAM. 
 'E/c ^coTjf /JL€ deoi rev^av XiOov e'/c Se Xidoio 
 Co>r]V Upa^ireXrjs efjLTraXiv elpyda-aro. 
 
 Eecerat e viva lapidem me Jupiter ; at me 
 Praxiteles vivam reddidit e lapide. 
 
 IN AMOREM DORMIENTEM. 
 
 EuSety aypvirvovs iiraycov durjroicn jxepipvas, 
 evSeis aTrjprjs a TeKOS Acppoyeuovf, 
 
 ov TrevKTjv irvpoeaaav €7rr]ppevos, ov8 a(pv\aKTOv 
 €/c Kepaos yjfaXXcov avTirovoio /SeAoy. 
 
 aXXoi OapcreiTcoaav' iyco 8\ dyepa^€, SeSoiKa 
 fi7] fiot, Koi Kva)a(T(ov iriKpov bveipov idyf. 
 
 DocTE puer vigiles mortalibus addere curas, 
 
 Anne potest in te somnus habere locum ? 
 Laxi juxta arcus, et fax suspensa quiescit, 
 
 Dormit et in pharetra clausa sagitta sua ; 
 Longe mater abest ; longe Cythereia turba : 
 
 Verum ausint alii te prope ferre pedem, 
 Non ego ; nam metui valde, mihi, perfide, quiddam 
 
 Forsan et in somnis ne meditere maH. 
 
140 
 
 FROM A FRAGMENT OF PLATO. 
 
 ' AXaos 8' as LKOfieaOa j3a6v(rKiov, evpofiev evSou 
 TTopi^vpeois ixrjXoKTtu eoiKora TralSa Y^vOrjprjs, 
 ovS fx^v LoSoKOV (paperprju, ov Ka/jLirvXa ro^a' 
 dAAa ra p.ei' Sei/Specrcrii' vtt einreTaXoLcri Kpepavro' 
 avTOf S' eV KaXvKecrcri pobaiv TreTreSrjfjLevo^ vTrvco 
 evBev p,€L8tocop' ^ovOal 8 e(pu7r€p0e p-eXiaaai 
 KTjpoxyTots ivTos Xapols eVt ^^iXeat fialvov. 
 
 Itur in Idalios tractus, felicia regna, 
 
 Fundit ubi densam myrtea sylva comam, 
 Intus Amor teneram visas spirare quietem, 
 
 Dum roseo roseos imprimit ore toros ; 
 Sublimem procul a ramis pendere pharetram, 
 
 Et de languidula spicula lapsa rnanu, 
 Vidimus, et risu moUi diducta labella 
 
 Mm-mure quae assiduo pervolitabat apis. 
 
 IN FONTEM AQU^ CALIDJE. 
 
 TaS' viro TOLS irXaravovs airaXcp rerpvp-evos vttvcd 
 €v8ev "Ejomy, Nii/x0ats" XapTraSa irapdep.euof. 
 
 'Nvp(f)ai 8' aXXr/Xycn, Tt peXXopev ; aide Se tovtco 
 ajSeaaapej', elnov, opov irvp Kpa8ir)s pepoirmv. 
 
 XapTTOLS 8" (hs e'cpXe^e /cat v8ara, Oeppov eKeWtv 
 l>lvp(pai 'EpcoTtaSey XovTpo)(oevcnv v8cop. 
 
 Sub platanis piier Idalius prope fluminis undam 
 
 Dormiit, in ripa deposuitque facem. 
 Tempus adest, socise, Nympharum audentior una, 
 
 Tempus adest, ultra quid dubitamus ?- ait. 
 
141 
 
 Ilicet incurrit, pestem ut divumque hominumqiie 
 Lampada collectis exanimaret aquis : 
 
 Demens ! nam nequiit ssevam restinguere flammaui 
 Nynipha, sed ipsa ignes traxit, et inde calet. 
 
 Mvv ' AaKXrjTTtdSrjs 6 (f)iXa.pyvpos dSev iu oIkw, 
 Kou, Tt TTOteif, (j)r)(Tcu, (j)i\TaT€ fiu Trap" ifxoi; 
 
 iJSu 5' 6 p.vs yeXaa-as, M.rj8eu (plXe, ^rjcn, (po/Srjd^s' 
 ovxi Tpo(j)rjs irapa aoi xpjlO^f^^") «AAa fiovris. 
 
 Irrepsisse suas murem videt Argus in sedes, 
 Atque ait, heus, a me nunquid, amice, velis ? 
 
 lUe autem ridens, metuas nihil, inquit ; apud te, 
 O bone, non epulas, hospitium petimus. 
 
 •vwwwv/wvwuwww^* 
 
 Ile/iTr&j croL, PoSoxAeta, robe aT€(j)of, audecri /caAoty 
 avTos eV ■^[xeTepaif TrXe^afievos iraXa^ais, 
 
 eari Kpivov, poSet] re kuXv^, voTeprj t di^eficourj, 
 Koi vdpKtcraos vypos, kcu Kvavavyes 'lov. 
 
 Tavra Se cTTe^ajxevrj, Xfj^ov /xeyaXav\os iovcra. 
 dudeis Koi Xrjyeis Koi av kcu 6 crrecpauof. 
 
 Hanc tibi Rufinus mittit, Rodoclea, coronam. 
 
 Has tibi decerpens texerat ipse rosas j 
 Est viola, est anemone, est suave-rubens hyacinthus, 
 
 Mistaque Narcisso lutea caltha suo : 
 Same ; sed aspiciens, ah, fidere desine formse ; 
 
 Qui pinxit, brevis est, sertaque teque, color. 
 
14; 
 
 AD AMOREM. 
 
 Aiaarofi ,'^pcof, Tov aypvirvov ifioi iroOov 'liXio8d>pov 
 Kolfxicrov, alSeadels M^ovaav ifxau iKeTiu. 
 
 vol yap Sr} to. era To^a, to. p,^ SeBiBaypeva fidXXctv 
 aXXov, dei 8 iir ep.oi irrrjua ■)(eovTa ^eXi], 
 
 el K€V epe KTeivrjs, XeiyJACO (pwvevvT eVt Tvp,^a> 
 ypdp,p.aT' 'E/JCOTO? opa ^elue piai^ovirjv. 
 
 Paulisper vigiles, oro, compesce dolores, 
 
 Respue nee musse supplicis aure pieces ; 
 Oro brevem lacrymis veniam, requiemque fiirori : 
 
 Ah, ego non possum vulnera tanta pati ! 
 Intima flamma, vides, miseros depascitur artus, 
 
 Surgit et extremis spiritus in labiis : 
 Quod si tarn tenuem cordi est exsolvere vitam, 
 
 Stabit in opprobrium sculpta querela tuum. 
 Juro perque faces istas, arcumque sonantem, 
 
 Spiculaque hoc unum figere docta jecur ; 
 Heu fuge crudelem puerum, ssevasque sagittas ! 
 
 Huic fuit exitii causa, viator, Amor. 
 
ETON : E. p. WILLIAMS, TYP.