There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, 'His listless length at noon-tide would he stretch, 'And pore upon the brook that bubbles by. • Him have we seen the greenwood side along, * • Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would rove; Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn, • Or craz'd with care, or cross'd in hopeless love. This stanza has always been excluded from the Elegy: its author having substituted in the place it originally held in the manuscript, that which begins with, There at the foot of yonder nodding beech.' It has, however, been preserved by Mr. Mason, whose remarks have induced us to insert it here, next to those lines with which Gray had superseded it. 'I rather wonder, (says Mason, in a note on the Elegy) that he rejected this stanza, as it not only has the same sort of Doric delicacy, which charms us peculiarly in this part of the poem, but also completes the account of his whole day: whereas, this evening scene being omitted, we have only his morning walk, and his noon-tide repose.' • 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: The next, with dirges due, in sad array 'Slow thro' the church-way path we saw him borne: Approach and read (for thou can'st read) the lay, 'Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.' THE EPITAPH. HERE rests his head upon the lap of earth, Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, 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. VARIATION, Referred to in page 182, after the Stanza ending, • With incense kindled at the Muse's flame.' The thoughtless world to majesty may bow, Than pow'r, or genius, e'er conspir'd to bless.. And thou, who mindful of th' unhonour'd dead, To wander in the gloomy walks of fate: Hark! how the sacred calm, that breathes around, No more, with reason and thyself at strife, * And here (says Mason) the poem was originally intended to conclude, before the happy idea of the hoary-headed swain, &c. suggested itself to the author. I cannot help hinting to the reader, that I think the third of these rejected stanzas equal to any in the whole Elegy.-Notes on Gray. 'TIS ODE, WRITTEN IN A VISIT TO THE COUNTRY IN AUTUMN. [LOGAN.] Is past! No more the Summer blooms Behold congenial Autumn comes, What time thy holy whispers breathe, And twilight consecrates the floods; O let me wander through the sounding woods. Ah! well-known streams! ah! wonted groves, Still pictur'd in my mind! Oh! sacred scene of youthful loves, Whose image lives behind! While sad I ponder on the past, The joys that must no longer last; The wild flower strown on Summer's bier, The dying music of the grove, And the last elegies of love, Dissolve the soul, and draw the tender tear! Alas! the hospitable hall, Where youth and friendship play'd, Wide to the winds a ruin'd wall, Projects a death-like shade! The charm is vanish'd from the vales ; The fancied Eden fades with all its flowers! Companions of the youthful scene, I hear Your forms in every walk I find, I stretch my arms: ye vanish into air! My steps, when innocent and young, And wandering o'er the wild, I sung |