The powers of Harmony are mute,
And leave the once-delightful plain;
With heavy wing, I see them beat the air,
Damp'd by the leaden hand of comfortless Despair.

Yet stay, O! stay, celestial pow'rs,

And with a hand of kind regard
Dispel the boist'rous storm that lours
Destructive on the fav'rite bard;
O watch with me his last expiring breath,
And snatch him from the arms of dark, oblivious

Hark the fatal Sisters [74] join,

And with Horror's mutt'ring sounds,
Weave the tissue of his line,
While the dreadful spell resounds.
"Hail, ye midnight sisters, hail,

"Drive the shuttle swift along;
"Let your secret charms prevail
"O'er the valiant and the strong,

"O'er the glory of the land,

"O'er the innocent and gay,
"O'er the Muse's tuneful band—

"Weave the fun'ral web of Gray."

[74]The Fatal Sisters, an Ode.

'Tis done, 'tis done—the iron hand of pain,
With ruthless fury and corrosive force,

Racks every joint, and seiaes every vein:
He sinks, he groans, he falls a lifeless corse.

Thus fades the flow'r nipp'd by the frozen gale,
Tho' once so sweet, so lovely to the eye:

Thus the tall oaks, when boist'rous storms assail,
Torn from the earth, a mighty ruin lie,

Ye sacred sisters of the plaintive verse,

Now let the stream of fond affection flow; O pay your tribute o'er the slow-drawn hearse, , With all the manly dignity of woe.

Oft when the Curfew tolls its parting knell

With solem pause yon Church-yard's gloom survey,

While Sorrow'sjsighs and tears of Pity tell
How just the moral of the Poet's lay[75].

O'er his green grave, in Contemplation's guise,
Oft let the pilgrim drop a silent tear:

Oft let the shepherd's tender accents rise,
Big with the sweets of each revolving year:

Till prostrate Time adore his deathless name,
Fix'd on the solid base of adamantine fame.

[75"] Elegy in a Country Church-Yard.





NO more the Grecian Muse unrivall'd 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.


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