« ForrigeFortsett »
ODE ON THE SPRING.
Ln! where the rosy-hosom'd Hours,
Fair Venus' train appear,
And wake the purple year!
The untaught harmony of Spring:
Their gather'd fragrance fling.
Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch
A hroader, hrowner shade;
OVr-canopies the giade',
(At ease reclin'd in rustic state)
How indigent the great!
Still is the toiling hand of Care:
The panting herd's repose:
The busy murmur glows f
And float amid the liquid noon *:
Quick-glancing to the Sun i.
i a hank
OVr-canopied with luscious woodbine.
Shaksp. Mids. Night's Dream. i Narc per aestatem liquidam—
Virg. Georg. lib. iv.
* sporting with quick glance
Show to the Sun their waved coats dropp'd with gold. Milton's Paradise Lost, Book ii. VOL xrv.
To Contemplation's soher eye 4
Such is the race of man:
Shall end where they hegan.
In Fortune's varying colours drest: Brush'd hy the hand of rough Mischance; Or chill'd hy Age, their airy dance
They leave in dust to rest.
Mcthinks I hear in accents low
The slKirtive kind reply;
A solitary fly!
No painted plumage to display:
We frolic while''tis May."
ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE CIT,
Twas on a lofty vase's side,
The azure flowers that hlow;
Gaz'd on the lake below.
Her conscious tail her joy deelar'd;
The velvet of her paws,
She saw; and purr'd applause.
4 While insects from the threshold preach, icc.
M. Green, in the Grotto. D'Xlsley's Miscellanies, vol. v. p. I6I. 146 GRAY'S
Still had she gaz'd; but 'midst the tide
The Genii of the stream:
Betray'd a golden gleam.
The hapless nymph with wonder saw:
With many an ardent wish,
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 sate by, and smil'd) The slippery verge her feet beguil'd,
She tumbled headlong in. Eight times emerging from the flood
Some speedy aid to send.
A favourite has no friend!
From hence, ye beauties, undeceiv'd,
And be with caution bold.
Not all that glisters, gold.
ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE.
* Av0fiu7ro;' IxaWi trfoprttn; ii; To 2v;vxtLi.
Ye distant spires, ye antique towers,
That crown the watry glade,
Her Henry's i holy shade;
Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey,
His silver-winding way.
Ah, happy hills, ah, pleasing shade,
Ah, fields hclov'd in vain,
A stranger yet to pain!
As waving fresh their gladsome wing,
To breathe a second spring.
i King Henry the Sixth, founder of the college. 2 And bees their honey redolent of spring.
Dryden's Fahle on the Pythag. System.
Say, father Thames, for thou hast seen
Full many a sprightly race
The paths of pleasure trace,
The captive linnet which enthrall?
Or urge the flying ball?
While some on earnest husiness hent
Their murmuring labours ply
To sweeten liberty;
And unknown regions dare descry:
And snatch a fearful joy.
Gay Hope is theirs, hy Fancy fed,
Less pleasing, when possest; The tear forgot as soon as shed,
The sunshine of the breast: Theirs buxom health, of rosy hue; Wild wit, invention ever new,
And lively cheer of vigour hom; The thoughtless day, the easy night, The spirits pure, the slumhers light,
That fly th' approach of morn.
Alas, regardless of their doom,
The little victims play!
Nor care heyond to day. »
And black Misfortune's baleful train,
These shall the fury passions tear,
The vultures of the mind,
And Shame that skulks behind;
That inly gnaws the secret heart,
Amhition this shall tempt to rise,
Then whirl the wretch from high,
And grinning Infamy,
That mocks the tear it fore'd to flow;
s Madness laughing in his ireful meod.
Dryden's Fahle of Palamon and Arcite, HYMN TO
to, in the rale of years heneath
A grisly troop are seen,
More hideous than their queen:
Those in the deeper vitals rage:
And slow-consuming Age.
To each his sufferings: all are men,
Coudemn'd alike to groan; The tender for another's pain,
The 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 hliss,
Tis folly to be wise.
HYMN TO ADVERSITY.
To, ippvvi7v iSfsltf; hiua
©rila xvfiw; tytn
iEschylus, in Agamemnone.
D*fchte» of Jove, relentless power,
Thou tamer of the human breast,
The bad affright, afflict the hest!
When first thy sire to send on Earth
Virtue, his darling child, design'd, To thee he gave the heavenly hirth,
And bade to form her infant mind. Stem rugged nurse; thy rigid lore With patience many a year she hore: What sorrow was, thou bad'st her know, And from her own she learn'd to melt at others woe.
Scar'd at thy frown terrific, fly
Self-pleasing Folly's idle hrood,
And leave us leisure to he good.
Wisdom, in sahle garh array'd,
Immers'd in rapturous 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 chastening hand!
Not in thy gorgon terrour's clad,
ADVERSITY... .ELEGY. I47(As hy the impious thou art seen)
Thy form henign, oh, goddess, wear,
Thy milder influence impart,
To soften, not to wound, my heart.
WRITTEN IN A COUNTRT CHURCH-YARD.
The curfew tollsi the knell of parting day,
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tower,
Of such as, wandering near her secret hower,
Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn,
The swallow twittering from the straw-huilt shed,
The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,
For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
No children run to lisp their sire's return,
Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield,
Their furrow oft the stuhhorn glehe has broke;
How jocund did they drive their team afield!
Let not Amhition mock their useful toil,
Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile,
The hoast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
Await alike th' inevitable hour,
Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault,
Where through the long drawn aisle and fretted vault,
i squills di lontano
Che paia 'I giorno pianger, che si muore.
Dante. PurgaU I. 8.
Can storied urn or animated bust
Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust,
Or Flattery 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,
But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page,
Full many a gem of purest ray serene,
Fidl many a flower is born to blush unseen,
Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast
Th' applause of listening senates to command,
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,
Their lot forbad: nor circumscrib'd alone
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confin'd;
Forbad to wade through slaughter to a throne,
The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide,
Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride
Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife,
They kept the noiseless tenour of their way.
Yet cv'n these bones from insult to protect,
Their name, their years, spelt by th' unlettertf Muse,
And many a holy text around she strews,
For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prey,
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
On some fond breast the parting soul relies.
F.v'n from the tomb the voice of Nature cries,
1 Ch'i veggio ncl pensier, dolce mio fuoco,
For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonourM dead,
If chance, by lonely Contemplation led,
Haply some hoary-headed swain may say,
Brushing with hasty steps the dews away
"There at the foot of yonder nodding beech
His listless length at. noontide would he stretch,
"Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove, Now drooping woful wan, like one forlorn, Or craz'd with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.
"One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill, Along the heath and near his favourite tree;Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he;
"The next with dirges due in sad array [borne.
Slow through the church-way path we saw him Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay,
Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn."
Here rests his head upon the lap of L'arth,
Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth,
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,
He gave to Misery all he had, a tear; [friend.
He gain'd from Heaven ('twas all he wish'd) a
No further seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose ')