human
Can you write a poem for me in the style of Bento Serrano?
assistant
Sure, here's a poem in the style of Bento Serrano:
  Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1876, by
It is a curious fact that the most accurate edition of Gray's
printed with equal care, and the proofs were probably read by the
Pickering's edition of 1835, edited by Mitford, has been followed
corresponding stanzas of the two Pindaric odes, which any careful
again--as in the Boston (1853) reprint of Pickering, the pretty
Of former editions of Gray, the only one very fully annotated is
Mason's editions, and from Hales's notes (_Longer English Poems_,
material many original notes and illustrations have been added.
The facts concerning the first publication of the _Elegy_ are not
proved.
article on "Gray and his Elegy," says:
"It first saw the light in _The Magazine of Magazines_, February,
appeared," etc.
quotations merely as illustrations of style and expression, or as
college from 1734 to September, 1738. At Eton he had as
antiquities, and his sketches of foreign manners, evince his
libraries. His happiness consisted in study, and he perused with
critical attention the Greek and Roman poets, philosophers,
historians, and orators. Plato and the Anthologia he read and
familiar with French and Italian literature, was a zealous
quintessence, as it were, of thirty years of ceaseless study and
appreciate the rapid transitions, the figurative language, and
lyrical magnificence of the odes; but the elegy went home to all
popularity. When the original manuscript of the poem was lately
Cambridge, which fell vacant in 1762, and, by the advice of his
Professorship of Modern History was again vacant, and the Duke of
himself. He thought it better that gratitude should sing than
Cumberland and Westmoreland, and few of the beauties of the
mignonette and choice flowers in China vases, but outside may be
satire for his friends and correspondents--some note on natural
epitaph on his mother is characterized not only by the tenderness
Dorothy Gray to her son Thomas Gray." [Cunningham's edit. of
edited by his friend, the Rev. W. Mason, appeared in 1775. It has
letter-writer.
No more the Grecian muse unrivall'd reigns,
To Britain let the nations homage pay;
She felt a Homer's fire in Milton's strains,
A Pindar's rapture in the lyre of Gray.
The cenotaph afterwards erected in Stoke Park by Mr. Penn is
described below.
It is at Stoke-Pogis that we seek the most attractive vestiges of
Churchyard_, and his _Long Story_ were not only written, but were
His mother and aunts lived at an old-fashioned house in a very
garden, and that many of the trees still remaining are of his
accustomed to read and write much; and it is just the place to
by. The garden, of course, has shared in the change, and now
stands gay with its fountain and its modern greenhouse, and,
excepting for some fine trees, no longer reminds you of Gray. The
_West-End_, lies in a secluded part of the parish, on the road to
Stoke Park is about a couple of miles from Slough. The country is
Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn,
Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove;
Now drooping, woeful-wan, like one forlorn,
Or craz'd with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.
One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill,
Along the heath, and near his fav'rite tree;
Another came; nor yet beside the rill,
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he.
The second is from the _Ode_:
Ye distant spires! ye antique towers!
That crown the watery glade,
Where grateful Science still adores
Her Henry's holy shade;
And ye, that from the stately brow
Of Windsor's heights th' expanse below
Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey,
Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among
Wanders the hoary Thames along
His silver-winding way.
Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade!
Ah, fields belov'd in vain!
Where once my careless childhood stray'd,
A stranger yet to pain!
I feel the gales that from ye blow,
A momentary bliss bestow.
The third is again from the _Elegy_:
Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap,
Each in his narrow cell forever laid,
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.
The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,
The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed,
The cock's shrill clarion or the echoing horn,
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.
The fourth bears this inscription:
This Monument, in honour of
Among the scenery
Celebrated by that great Lyric and Elegiac Poet.
And lies unnoted in the adjoining Church-yard,
Under the Tomb-stone on which he piously
And pathetically recorded the interment
Of his Aunt and lamented Mother.
This monument is in a neatly kept garden-like enclosure, with a
"The moping owl may to the moon complain
Of such as, wandering near her secret bower,
Molest her ancient, solitary reign."
The structure is as simple and old-fashioned, both without and
"Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap,
Each in his narrow cell forever laid,
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep."
mentioned, and placed a small slab in the wall, under the window,
there. The whole scene is well worthy of a summer day's stroll,
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea,
The plowman 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 tinklings lull the distant folds:
Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tower,
The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of such as, wandering 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 mouldering heap,
Each in his narrow cell forever laid,
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.
The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,
The swallow twittering 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 toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;
Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile
The short and simple annals of the poor.
The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Awaits 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.
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,
Or wak'd to ecstasy the living lyre:
But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page,
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll;
Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul.
Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear;
Full many a 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 listening senates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,
And read their history in a nation's eyes,
Their lot forbade: nor circumscrib'd alone
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confin'd;
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 tenor of their way.
Yet even 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 moralist to die.
This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd,
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
Nor cast one longing lingering look behind?
On some fond breast the parting soul relies,
Some pious drops the closing eye requires;
Even from the tomb the voice of Nature cries,
Even 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,
Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove;
Now drooping, woeful-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,
Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne.
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 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,
Heaven did a recompense as largely send;
He gave to Misery all he had, a tear;
He gain'd from Heaven ('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.
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, whispering pleasure as they fly,
Cool Zephyrs thro' the clear blue sky
Their gather'd fragrance fling.
Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch
A broader browner shade,
Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech
O'ercanopies the glade,
Beside some water's rushy brink
With me the Muse shall sit, and think
(At ease reclin'd in rustic state)
How vain the ardour of the crowd,
How low, how little are the proud,
How indigent the great!
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:
Some lightly o'er the current skim,
Some show their gayly-gilded trim
Quick-glancing to the sun.
To Contemplation's sober eye
Such is the race of Man;
And they that creep, and they that fly,
Shall end where they began.
Alike the busy and the gay
But flutter thro' life's little day,
In Fortune's varying colours drest:
Brush'd by the hand of rough Mischance,
Or chill'd by age, their airy dance
They leave, in dust to rest.
Methinks I hear in accents low
The sportive kind reply:
Poor moralist! 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.
'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 Selima, reclin'd,
Gaz'd on the lake below.
Her conscious tail her joy declar'd:
The fair round face, the snowy beard,
The velvet of her paws,
Her coat, that with the tortoise vies,
Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes,
She saw; and purr'd applause.
Still had she gaz'd; but midst the tide
Two angel forms were seen to glide,
The Genii of the stream:
Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue
Through richest purple to the view
Betray'd a golden gleam.
The hapless nymph with wonder saw:
A whisker first, and then a claw,
With many an ardent wish,
She stretch'd in vain to reach the prize.
What female heart can gold despise?
What Cat's averse to fish?
Presumptuous maid! with looks intent
Again she stretch'd, again she bent,
Nor knew the gulf between.
(Malignant Fate sat by, and smil'd.)
The slippery verge her feet beguil'd,
She tumbled headlong in.
Eight times emerging from the flood,
She mew'd to every watery God,
Some speedy aid to send.
No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr'd:
Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard.
A favourite has no friend!
From hence, ye beauties, undeceiv'd,
Know, one false step is ne'er retriev'd,
And be with caution bold.
Not all that tempts your wandering eyes
And heedless hearts is lawful prize,
Nor all that glisters gold.
Ye distant spires, ye antique towers,
That crown the watery glade,
Where grateful Science still adores
Her Henry's holy shade;
And ye, that from the stately brow
Of Windsor's heights th' expanse below
Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey,
Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among
Wanders the hoary Thames along
His silver-winding way:
Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade!
Ah, fields belov'd in vain!
Where once my careless childhood stray'd,
A stranger yet to pain!
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.
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 speed,
Or urge the flying ball?
While some, on earnest business bent,
Their murmuring 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 theirs by fancy fed,
Less pleasing when possest;
The tear forgot as soon as shed,
The sunshine of the breast:
Theirs buxom health of rosy hue,
Wild wit, invention ever new,
And lively cheer of vigour born;
The thoughtless day, the easy night,
The spirits pure, the slumbers light,
That fly th' approach of morn.
Alas! regardless of their doom,
The little victims play;
No sense have they of ills to come,
No care beyond to-day:
Yet see how all around 'em wait
The ministers of human fate,
And black Misfortune's baleful train!
Ah, show them where in ambush stand
To seize their prey the murtherous band!
Ah, tell them, they are men!
These shall the fury Passions tear,
The vultures of the mind,
Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear,
And Shame that skulks behind;
Or pining Love shall waste their youth,
Or Jealousy with rankling tooth,
That inly gnaws the secret heart;
And Envy wan, and faded Care,
Grim-visag'd comfortless Despair,
And Sorrow's piercing dart.
Ambition this shall tempt to rise,
Then whirl the wretch from high,
To bitter Scorn a sacrifice,
And grinning Infamy.
The stings of Falsehood those shall try,
And hard Unkindness' alter'd eye,
That mocks the tear it forc'd to flow;
And keen Remorse with blood defil'd,
And moody Madness laughing wild
Amid severest woe.
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 sufferings: 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.
De to pan hermêneôn
Awake, Æolian 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,
Thro' 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.
Oh! Sovereign of the willing soul,
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 dropt 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.
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 Sports, and blue-eyed Pleasures,
Frisking light 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.
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 given in vain the heavenly Muse?
Night and all her sickly dews,
Her spectres wan, and birds of boding cry,
He gives to range the dreary sky;
Till down the eastern cliffs afar
Hyperion's march they spy, and glittering shafts of war.
In climes beyond the solar road,
Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam,
The Muse has broke the twilight gloom
To cheer the shivering native's dull abode.
And oft, beneath the odorous shade
Of Chili's boundless forests laid,
She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat,
In loose numbers wildly sweet,
Their feather-cinctur'd chiefs, and dusky loves.
Her track, where'er the Goddess roves,
Glory pursue, and generous Shame,
Th' unconquerable Mind, and Freedom's holy flame.
Woods, that wave o'er Delphi's steep,
Isles, that crown th' Ægean deep,
Fields, that cool Ilissus laves,
Or where Mæander's amber waves
In lingering labyrinths creep,
How do your tuneful echoes languish,
Mute, but to the voice of anguish!
Where each old poetic mountain
Inspiration breath'd around;
Every 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, O Albion! next thy sea-encircled coast.
Far from the sun and summer gale,
In thy green lap was Nature's darling laid,
What time, where lucid Avon stray'd,
To him the mighty mother did unveil
Her awful face: the dauntless child
Stretch'd forth his little arms and smil'd.
"This pencil take (she said), whose colours clear
Richly paint the vernal year:
Thine too these golden keys, immortal Boy!
This can unlock the gates of joy;
Of horror that, and thrilling fears,
Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears."
Nor second He, that rode sublime
Upon the seraph wings of Ecstasy,
The secrets of th' abyss to spy.
He pass'd the flaming bounds of place and time:
The living throne, the sapphire blaze,
Where angels tremble while they gaze,
He saw; but, blasted with excess of light,
Clos'd his eyes in endless night.
Behold, where Dryden's less presumptuous car,
Wide o'er the fields of glory bear
Two coursers of ethereal race,
With necks in thunder cloth'd, and long-resounding pace.
Hark, his hands the lyre explore!
Bright-eyed Fancy hovering o'er
Scatters from her pictur'd urn
Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.
But ah! 'tis heard no more----
Oh! lyre divine, what daring spirit
Wakes thee now? Tho' he inherit
Nor the pride, nor ample pinion,
That the Theban eagle bear,
Sailing with supreme dominion
Thro' 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.
"Ruin seize thee, ruthless King!
Confusion on thy banners wait;
Tho' fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing,
They mock the air with idle state.
Helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail,
Nor e'en thy virtues, Tyrant, shall avail
To save thy secret soul from nightly fears,
From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears!"
Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride
Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay,
As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side
He wound with toilsome march his long array.
Stout Gloster stood aghast in speechless trance:
"To arms!" cried Mortimer, and couch'd his quivering lance.
On a rock whose haughty brow
Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood,
Rob'd 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, O 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.
"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 Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topt 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 cliffs, a grisly band,
I see them sit, they linger yet,
Avengers of their native land:
With me in dreadful harmony they join,
And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line.
"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 reëcho with affright
The shrieks of death thro' Berkeley's roofs that ring,
Shrieks of an agonizing king!
She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs,
That tear'st the bowels of thy mangled mate,
From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs
The scourge of heaven. What terrors round him wait!
Amazement in his van, with Flight combin'd,
And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind.
"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 noontide 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
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.
"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 thro' the kindred squadrons mow their way.
Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame,
With many a foul and midnight murther fed,
Revere his consort's faith, his father's fame,
And spare the meek usurper's holy head.
Above, below, the rose of snow,
Twin'd with her blushing foe, we spread:
The bristled boar in infant gore
Wallows beneath the thorny shade.
Now, brothers, bending o'er the accursed loom,
Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom.
"Edward, lo! to sudden fate
(Weave we the woof. The thread is spun.)
Half of thy heart we consecrate.
(The web is wove. The work is done.)
Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn
Leave me unbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn:
In yon bright track, that fires the western skies,
They melt, they vanish from my eyes.
But oh! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height
Descending slow their 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!
"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 lion-port, her awe-commanding face,
Attemper'd sweet to virgin-grace.
What strings symphonious tremble in the air,
What strains of vocal transport round her play!
Hear from the grave, great Taliessin, hear;
They breathe a soul to animate thy clay.
Bright Rapture calls, and soaring as she sings,
Waves in the eye of heaven her many-colour'd wings.
"The verse adorn again
Fierce War, and faithful Love,
And Truth severe, by fairy Fiction drest.
In buskin'd measures move
Pale Grief, and pleasing Pain,
With 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.
Fond impious man, think'st thou yon sanguine cloud,
Rais'd by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of day?
To-morrow he repairs the golden flood,
And warms the nations with redoubled ray.
Enough for me; with joy I see
The 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 plung'd to endless night.
Ton phronein brotous hodô-
santa, tôi pathei mathan
Thenta kuriôs echein.]
Daughter of Jove, relentless power,
Thou tamer of the human breast,
Whose iron scourge and torturing hour
The bad affright, afflict the best!
Bound in thy adamantine chain,
The proud are taught to taste of pain,
And purple tyrants vainly groan
With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone.
When first thy sire to send on earth
Virtue, his darling child, design'd,
To thee he gave the heavenly 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.
Scar'd 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 flattering foe;
By vain Prosperity receiv'd,
To her they vow their truth, and are again believ'd.
Wisdom in sable garb array'd,
Immersed 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 terrors clad,
Not circled with the vengeful band
(As by the impious thou art seen),
With thundering voice and threatening mien,
With screaming Horror's funeral cry,
Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty:
Thy form benign, O 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.
"Mark the year, and mark the night,
When Severn shall reëcho with affright
The shrieks of death thro' Berkeley's roofs that ring,
Shrieks of an agonizing king!"
Arc., Milton's _Arcades_.
Foll., following.
F. Q., Spenser's _Faërie Queene_.
H., Haven's _Rhetoric_ (Harper's edition).
Il Pens., Milton's _Il Penseroso_.
Ol., Pindar's _Olympian Odes_.
P. L., Milton's _Paradise Lost_.
P. R., Milton's _Paradise Regained_.
S. A., Milton's _Samson Agonistes_.
Shep. Kal., Spenser's _Shepherd's Kalendar_.
Wb., Webster's Dictionary (last revised quarto edition).
Worc., Worcester's Dictionary (quarto edition).
Other abbreviations (names of books in the Bible, plays of
Shakespeare, works of Ovid, Virgil, and Horace, etc.) need no
explanation.
This poem was begun in the year 1742, but was not finished until
advertisement to the effect that accident alone brought the poem
careless, for there are many errors of the press in this _editio
princeps_. Gray writes to Walpole, under date of "Ash-Wednesday,
Dodsley and his matrons, that take _awake_ [in line 92, which at
decked," "Slow through the churchway _pass_," and many of minor
importance.]
Usefulness of our COLLECTION, that hath supported its Sale and
Reputation for Twenty Years." A foot-note informs us that the
periodicals of similar name published in London in 1751.
first place, Gray appears (from other portions of his letter to
records the publication of the _Elegy_ by Dodsley thus: "An Elegy
We have not been able to find the _Magazine of Magazines_ or the
_Grand Magazine of Magazines_ in the libraries, and know nothing
The author's name is not given with the _Elegy_ as printed in the
authorized edition; though, queerly enough, it has "winds" in the
The "Magazine of Magazines" (as the writer in the _North American
'Sunt lacrymae rerum, et mentem mortalia tangunt.'
He paused awhile, and taking his pen, wrote the line on a printed
preoccupied it.' 'So,' replied he, 'indeed it is.'" Gray himself
"publish'd in
went thro' four
months; and af-
terwards a fifth
with M^r Bentley's
Designs, of w^{ch}
there is a 2^d Edition
& again by Dodsley
call'd _the Union_.
translated into
Esq, & the Rev^d M^r
Roberts, & publish'd
in the same year
Progress_, and is proof of the same universality of interest,
Campagna, tradotta dall' Inglese in più lingue: Verona, 1817;
'The paths of glory lead but to the grave,'
Hales, in his Introduction to the poem, remarks: "The _Elegy_ is
perhaps the most widely known poem in our language. The reason of
especially suggests itself is the potential greatness, when they
mechanical poet--one who brought from without, but never found
another's gems and bits of ore, and fashioning them into
scholiasts, the interpreters, the annotators, and other like
book-worms, from Aristarchus down to Döderlein; and may it not be
_Elegy_. An excellent fac-simile of this manuscript appears in
Mathias's edition of Gray, published in 1814. In referring to it
hereafter we shall designate it as the "Pembroke" MS.
feminine delicacy of the poet's handwriting.]
In the 2d stanza, it reads, "And _now_ the air," etc.
The 5th stanza is as follows:
"For ever sleep: the breezy call of morn,
Or swallow twitt'ring from the straw-built shed,
Or Chanticleer so shrill, or echoing horn,
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed."
In 8th stanza, "Their _rustic_ joys," etc.
In 10th stanza, the first two lines read,
"Forgive, ye proud, th' involuntary fault,
If memory to these no trophies raise."
In 12th stanza, "Hands that the _reins_ of empire," etc.
In 13th stanza, "Chill Penury _depress'd_," etc.
The 15th stanza reads thus:
"Some village Cato, who, with dauntless breast,
The little tyrant of his fields withstood;
Some mute inglorious Tully here may rest,
Some Cæsar guiltless of his country's blood."
article on the change made by Gray in this stanza, entitled, "A
Lesson from Gray's Elegy," from which we cull the following
paragraphs:
"Gray, having first of all put down the names of three Romans as
especially from parts of English history which, it must be
would have regretted the change from Cato, Tully, and Cæsar to
Hampden, Milton, and Cromwell, those who perhaps really did think
In 18th stanza, "Or _crown_ the shrine," etc.
After this stanza, the MS. has the following four stanzas, now
omitted:
"The thoughtless world to Majesty may bow,
Exalt the brave, and idolize success;
But more to innocence their safety owe
Than Pow'r, or Genius, e'er conspir'd to bless.
"And thou who, mindful of the unhonour'd Dead,
Dost in these notes their artless tale relate,
By night and lonely contemplation led
To wander in the gloomy walks of fate:
"Hark! how the sacred Calm, that breathes around,
Bids every fierce tumultuous passion cease;
In still small accents whisp'ring from the ground
A grateful earnest of eternal peace.
"No more, with reason and thyself at strife,
Give anxious cares and endless wishes room;
But through the cool sequester'd vale of life
Pursue the silent tenor of thy doom."
melancholy in all four which claimed preservation. The third he
In the 19th stanza, the MS. has "never _learn'd_ to stray."
In the 21st stanza, "fame and _epitaph_," etc.
In the 23d stanza, the last line reads,
"And buried ashes glow with social fires."
The 24th stanza reads,
"If chance that e'er some pensive Spirit more,
By sympathetic musings here delay'd,
With vain, though kind inquiry shall explore
Thy once-lov'd haunt, this long-deserted shade."
"Thy ever loved haunt--this long deserted shade."
The last line of the 25th stanza reads,
"On the high brow of yonder hanging lawn."
Then comes the following stanza, afterwards omitted:
"Him have we seen the greenwood side along,
While o'er the heath we hied, our labour done,
Oft as the woodlark pip'd her farewell song,
With wistful eyes pursue the setting sun."
The first line of the 27th stanza reads,
"With gestures quaint, now smiling as in scorn."
"There scatter'd oft, the earliest of the year,
By hands unseen are frequent violets found;
The robin loves to build and warble there,
And little footsteps lightly print the ground."
This--with two or three verbal changes only--was inserted in all
however, are in themselves exquisitely fine, and demand
preservation."
The first line of the 31st stanza has "and his _heart_ sincere."
The 32d and last stanza is as follows:
"No farther seek his merits to disclose,
Nor seek to draw them from their dread abode--
(His frailties there in trembling hope repose);
The bosom of his Father and his God."
The Pembroke MS. has the following variations from the present
version:
In the 1st stanza, "wind" for "winds."
retained by Gray in the ed. of 1768.
The 10th stanza begins,
"_Forgive_, ye Proud, _th' involuntary_ fault
If Memory _to these_," etc.,
In the 15th stanza, the word "lands" has been crossed out, and
"fields" written above it.
The 17th has "_Or_ shut the gates," etc.
In the 21st we have "fame and _epitaph_ supply."
The 23d has "_And_ in our ashes _glow_," the readings "Ev'n" and
"live" being inserted in the margin.
In the 29th a word which we cannot make out has been erased, and
"aged" substituted.
"There scatter'd oft, the earliest of the Year,
By Hands unseen, are Show'rs of Violets found;
The Red-breast loves to build, and warble there,
And little Footsteps lightly print the Ground."
"He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a Tear,
He gain'd from Heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a Friend."
(Fitzstephen). The enforced extinction of domestic lights at an
appointed signal was designed to be a safeguard against them."
Warton wanted to have this line read
"The curfew tolls!--the knell of parting day."
"Swinging slow with sullen roar."
Gray himself quotes here Dante, _Purgat._ 8:
--"squilla di lontano
Che paia 'l giorno pianger, che si muore;"
and we cannot refrain from adding, for the benefit of those
unfamiliar with Italian, Longfellow's exquisite translation:
--"from far away a bell
That seemeth to deplore the dying day."
"That tolls the knell for their departed sense."
On _parting_=departing, cf. Shakes. _Cor._ v. 6: "When I parted
winding way." The ordinary reading mars both the meaning and the
melody of the line.
indubitable error of the type in the entire volume. Certain
quotations from Greek, Latin, and Italian are correctly given
habits, and we may be sure that the poems appear in precisely the
examined swarm with errors, especially in the notes. Pickering's
"Now air is hush'd, save where the weak-eyed bat
With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing,
Or where the beetle winds
His small but sullen horn,
As oft he rises 'midst the twilight path,
Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum."
"Ere the bat hath flown
His cloister'd flight; ere to black Hecate's summons
The shard-borne beetle, with his drowsy hums,
Hath rung night's yawning peal," etc.
"Assiduous in his bower the wailing owl
Plies his sad song;"
"the wailing owl
Screams solitary to the mournful moon."
Tennyson (_In Mem._ x.) speaks of resting
'beneath the clover sod
That takes the sunshine and the rains,
Or where the kneeling hamlet drains
The chalice of the grapes of God.'
"Now when as sacred light began to dawn
In Eden on the humid flowers that breath'd
Their morning incense," etc.
"Evandrum ex humili tecto lux suscitat alma,
Et matutini volucrum sub culmine cantus."
"When chanticleer with clarion shrill recalls
"The crested cock, whose clarion sounds
The silent hours;"
"The cock that is the trumpet to the morn;"
"I slept not till the early bugle-horn
Of chaunticlere had summon'd in the morn;"
and Thomas Kyd, _England's Parnassus_:
"The cheerful cock, the sad night's trumpeter,
Wayting upon the rising of the sunne;
The wandering swallow with her broken song," etc.
Mitford says: "Here the epithet 'lowly,' as applied to 'bed,'
occasions some ambiguity as to whether the poet meant the bed on
which they sleep, or the grave in which they are laid, which in
"Jam jam non domus accipiet te laeta, neque uxor
Optima nee dulces occurrent oscula nati
Praeripere et tacita pectus dulcedine tangent;"
"Quod si pudica mulier in partem juvet
Domum atque dulces liberos
Sacrum vetustis exstruat lignis focum
Lassi sub adventum viri," etc.
Mitford quotes Thomson, _Winter_, 311:
"In vain for him the officious wife prepares
The fire fair-blazing, and the vestment warm;
In vain his little children, peeping out
Into the mingling storm, demand their sire
With tears of artless innocence."
expression that is not proper to our language, and was probably
'And she I cherished _turned her wheel_
Beside an English fire.'"
"Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher through
To meet their Dad, wi' flichterin noise an' glee."
"Interea dulces pendent circum oscula nati;"
and Mitford adds from Dryden,
"Whose little arms about thy legs are cast,
And climbing for a kiss prevent their mother's haste."
"His little children climbing for a kiss."
"'Tis mine to tame the stubborn glebe."
_Broke_=broken, as often in poetry, especially in the Elizabethan
"But to the roote bent his sturdy stroake,
And made many wounds in the wast [wasted] Oake;"
"Labour him with many a sturdy stroke."
friend West's _Monody on Queen Caroline_:
"Ah, me! what boots us all our boasted power,
Our golden treasure, and our purple state;
They cannot ward the inevitable hour,
Nor stay the fearful violence of fate."
Hurd compares Cowley:
"Beauty, and strength, and wit, and wealth, and power,
Have their short flourishing hour;
And love to see themselves, and smile,
And joy in their pre-eminence a while:
Even so in the same land
Poor weeds, rich corn, gay flowers together stand;
Alas! Death mows down all with an impartial hand."
"This majestical roof fretted with golden fire;"
"The roof o' the chamber
With golden cherubins is fretted."
"There let the pealing organ blow
To the full-voiced quire below,
In service high, and anthem clear," etc.
"But when our country's cause provokes to arms."
"Such the bard's prophetic words,
Pregnant with celestial fire,
Bending as he swept the chords
Of his sweet but awful lyre."
"Sunt mihi quas possint sceptra decere manus."
"Begin the song, and strike the living lyre;"
"Who now shall charm the shades where Cowley strung
His living harp, and lofty Denham sung?"
enthusiasm" (Hales). Cf. Cowley:
"Who brought green poesy to her perfect age,
And made that art which was a rage?"
"How hard the task! How rare the godlike rage!"
shall bee."
_Purest ray serene_. As Hales remarks, this is a favourite
arrangement of epithets with Milton. Cf. _Hymn on Nativity_:
"flower-inwoven tresses torn;" _Comus_: "beckoning shadows dire;"
"Like roses that in deserts bloom and die."
Mitford cites Chamberlayne, _Pharonida_, ii. 4:
"Like beauteous flowers which vainly waste their scent
Of odours in unhaunted deserts;"
and Young, _Univ. Pass._ sat. v.:
"In distant wilds, by human eyes unseen,
She rears her flowers, and spreads her velvet green;
Pure gurgling rills the lonely desert trace,
And waste their music on the savage race;"
"Like woodland flowers, which paint the desert glades,
And waste their sweets in unfrequented shades."
Hales quotes Waller's
"Go, lovely rose,
Tell her that's young
And shuns to have her graces spied,
That hadst thou sprung
In deserts where no men abide
Thou must have uncommended died."
"With open freedom little tyrants raged."
The artists who have illustrated this passage (see, for instance,
Cromwell was extremely strong throughout the 18th century, even
earnestness, his high-minded purpose, were not yet seen."
After this stanza Thomas Edwards, the author of the _Canons of
Criticism_, would add the following, to supply what he deemed a
defect in the poem:
"Some lovely fair, whose unaffected charms
Shone with attraction to herself alone;
Whose beauty might have bless'd a monarch's arms,
Whose virtue cast a lustre on a throne.
"That humble beauty warm'd an honest heart,
And cheer'd the labours of a faithful spouse;
That virtue form'd for every decent part
The healthful offspring that adorn'd their house."
"To scatter blessings o'er the British land;"
"Is scattering plenty over all the land."
"And swam to empire through the purple flood."
"The gates of mercy shall be all shut up."
"Come, quench your blushes, and present yourself."
"Far from the madding worldling's hoarse discords."
"Foe to loud praise, and friend to learned ease,
Content with science in the vale of peace."
Latin, especially by Livy, as in v. 22: '_Ea_ sola pecunia,' the
money derived from that sale, etc." (Hales).
question really lies. Perhaps therefore it is better to take the
"No friend's complaint, no kind domestic tear
Pleas'd thy pale ghost, or grac'd thy mournful bier;
By foreign hands thy dying eyes were clos'd."
preceding stanza.... What he would say is that every one while a
spark of life yet remains in him yearns for some kindly loving
"Yet in our ashen cold is fire yreken."
Gray himself quotes Petrarch, _Sonnet_ 169:
"Ch'i veggio nel pensier, dolce mio fuoco,
Fredda una lingua e due begli occhi chiusi,
Rimaner doppo noi pien di faville,"
translated by Nott as follows:
"These, my sweet fair, so warns prophetic thought,
Clos'd thy bright eye, and mute thy poet's tongue,
E'en after death shall still with sparks be fraught,"
the "these" meaning his love and his songs concerning it. Gray
translated this sonnet into Latin elegiacs, the last line being
rendered,
"Ardebitque urna multa favilla mea."
"Ere the blabbing eastern scout,
The nice morn, on the Indian steep
From her cabin'd loop-hole peep."
"though from off the boughs each morn
We brush mellifluous dews;"
"And from the boughs brush off the evil dew."
Wakefield quotes Thomson, _Spring_, 103:
"Oft let me wander o'er the dewy fields,
Where freshness breathes, and dash the trembling drops
From the bent brush, as through the verdant maze
Of sweetbrier hedges I pursue my walk."
"Ere the high lawns appear'd
Under the opening eyelids of the morn."
In _L'Allegro_, 92, we have "upland hamlets," where Hales thinks
meaning is older than Milton (see Halliwell's _Dict. of Archaic
Words_), and Johnson, Keightley, and others are probably right in
rhyme.
"Shewing her wreathed rootes and naked armes."
"Her goodly length stretcht on a lilly-bed."
"unde loquaces
Lymphae desiliunt tuae."
Wakefield quotes _As You Like It_, ii. 1:
"As he lay along
Under an oak whose antique root peeps out
Upon the brook that brawls along this road."
"Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile,
In scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether."
"Smylynge half in scorne
At our foly."
found in the Pembroke MS.
Wakefield quotes Spenser, _Shep. Kal._ Jan.:
"For pale and wanne he was (alas the while!)
May seeme he lovd, or els some care he tooke."
assueta seditque sub ulmo."
"Now it is the time of night,
That the graves all gaping wide,
Every one lets forth his sprite
In the churchway paths to glide."
"For other beds the Priests there used none,
But on their mother Earths deare lap did lie;"
"How glad would lay me down,
As in my mother's lap!"
Lucretius (i. 291) has "gremium matris terrai." Mitford adds the
"He gave to Misery (all he had) a tear."
"His fame ('tis all the dead can have) shall live."
construction the poet had in mind is evident from the form of the
"No farther seek his merits to disclose,
Nor seek to draw them from their dread abode."
"With trembling tenderness of hope and fear;"
"Divided here twixt trembling hope and fear."
The original manuscript title of this ode was "Noontide." It was
"The rosy-bosom'd Spring
To weeping Fancy pines."
The _Horæ_, or hours, according to the Homeric idea, were the
goddesses of the seasons, the course of which was symbolically
blooming maidens, bearing the products of the seasons.
Hesiod, and other classical writers. Wakefield remarks: "Venus is
"where the Attic bird
Trills her thick-warbled notes the summer long."
"From the first note the hollow cuckoo sings,
The symphony of spring."
"And west winds with musky wing
About the cedarn alleys fling
Nard and cassia's balmy smells."
Autumn's varied shades imbrown the walls."
illustrates and confirms the mediæval sense of hue," etc.
canopy;" and Milton, _Comus_, 543: "a bank, With ivy canopied."
"I know a banke where the wilde time blowes,
Where Oxslips and the nodding Violet growes,
Quite ouer-cannoped with luscious woodbine."
Dyce and some other modern editors read,
"Quite overcanopied with lush woodbine."]
"How low, how indigent the proud!
How little are the great!"
industrious murmur."
_Hermitage_, quoted in a letter of Gray to Walpole: "From
maggot-youth through change of state," etc. See on 31 below.
"There has of late arisen," says Johnson in his Life of Gray, "a
practice of giving to adjectives derived from substantives the
termination of participles, such as the _cultured plain_, the
ought to know "that the ready conversion of our substances into
"Sporting with quick glance,
Show to the sun their waved coats dropt with gold."
passage referring to the insects is as follows:
"To the mind's ear, and inward sight,
There silence speaks, and shade gives light:
While insects from the threshold preach,
And minds dispos'd to musing teach;
Proud of strong limbs and painted hues,
They perish by the slightest bruise;
Or maladies begun within
Destroy more slow life's frail machine:
From maggot-youth, thro' change of state,
They feel like us the turns of fate:
Some born to creep have liv'd to fly,
And chang'd earth's cells for dwellings high:
And some that did their six wings keep,
Before they died, been forc'd to creep.
They politics, like ours, profess;
The greater prey upon the less.
Some strain on foot huge loads to bring,
Some toil incessant on the wing:
Nor from their vigorous schemes desist
Till death; and then they are never mist.
Some frolick, toil, marry, increase,
Are sick and well, have war and peace;
And broke with age in half a day,
Yield to successors, and away."
"From branch to branch the smaller birds with song
Solaced the woods, and spread their painted wings."
volucres;" and Phædrus, _Fab._ iii. 18: "pictisque plumis."
In a letter to Walpole, dated March 1, 1747, Gray refers to the
condolence, it would be a sensible satisfaction to me (before I
Tempus inane peto, requiem spatiumque doloris.
better for it; I do not mean you, but your Cat, feuë Mademoiselle
"There's a poem for you, it is rather too long for an Epitaph."
"Where the tall jar erects its stately pride,
With antic shapes in China's azure dyed."
allows. In the _Progress of Poesy_, i. 1, we have again: "The
laughing flowers that round them blow." Cf. _Comus_, 992:
"Iris there with humid bow
Waters the odorous banks that blow
Flowers of more mingled hue
Than her purfled scarf can shew."
"_Aureus_ ipse; sed in foliis, quae plurima circum
Funduntur, violae _sublucet purpura_ nigrae."
"Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless deep
Closed o'er the head of your lov'd Lycidas?"
"Nor cruel Tom nor Harry heard.
What favourite has a friend?"
"But all thing which that shineth as the gold
Ne is no gold, as I have herd it told;"
"Yet gold all is not, that doth golden seeme;"
"All that glisters is not gold;
Often have you heard that told;"
"All, as they say, that glitters is not gold."
This, as Mason informs us, was the first English production of
without the name of the author.
Wales's Marriage, had appeared in the _Cambridge Collection_ in
The writer in the _North American Review_ (vol. xcvi.), after
'Nec licuit populis parvum te, Nile, videre.'
Generations have come and gone, and an unknown race now frolic in
victims. They seem present to him, like very demons. Our language
locusts, to poison before their time the glad waters of youth?
'Yet ah! why should they know their fate,
Since sorrow never comes too late.
And happiness too quickly flies?
Thought would destroy their paradise.
No more;--where ignorance is bliss,
'Tis folly to be wise.'
So feeling and the want of feeling come together for once in the
Thaliarchus he says:
'Quid sit futurum cras, fuge quaerere: et
Quem Fors dierum cumque dabit, lucro
'Carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero;'
of that to Quinctius Hirpinus:
'Quid aeternis minorem
Consiliis animum fatigas?'
of that to Pompeius Grosphus:
'Laetus in praesens animus, quod ultra est,
Oderit curare.'
And so with many others. 'Take no thought of the morrow.'"
"And now to where
Majestic Windsor lifts his princely brow."
matchless vale of Thames, Fair-winding up," etc.
expression has been considered obscure, and adds the following
explanation: "The poem is written in the character of one who
contemplates this life as a scene of misfortune and sorrow, from
whose fatal power the brief sunshine of youth is supposed to be
overclouded these opening prospects of delight. That is in vain
"with frequent foot
Pleas'd have I, in my cheerful morn of life,
When nurs'd by careless Solitude I liv'd,
And sung of Nature with unceasing joy,
Pleas'd have I wander'd," etc.
"What gain you by forbidding it to tease ye?
It now can neither trouble _you_ nor please ye."
"Say, father Thames, whose gentle pace
Gives leave to view, what beauties grace
Your flowery banks, if you have seen."
descries."
"Obstupuit simul ipse simul perculsus Achates
Laetitiaque metuque."
See also _Lear_, v. 3: "'Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and
heartfelt joy."
Shakes. _Pericles_, i. prologue:
"So buxom, blithe, and full of face,
As heaven had lent her all his grace."
Dr. Johnson appears to have had in mind the original meaning of
"When Adam wak'd, so custom'd; for his sleep
Was airy light, from pure digestion bred,
And temperate vapours bland."
"E'en now, regardful of his doom,
Applauding Honour haunts his tomb."
"While round stern ministers of fate,
Pain and Disease and Sorrow, wait;"
and Otway, _Alcibiades_, v. 2: "Then enter, ye grim ministers of
mythical Furies. Cf. Pope, _Essay on Man_, iii. 167: "The fury
Passions from that blood began."
"But gnawing Jealousy out of their sight,
Sitting alone, his bitter lips did bite."
enough for Envy to look wan."
possessive inflection, as Mason calls it. Cf. Dryden, _Hind and
Panther_, iii.: "Affected Kindness with an alter'd face."
"correspondence of sound with sense." As Pope says (_Essay on
"The line too labours, and the words move slow."
slow-consuming fires."
"Peace, brother, be not over-exquisite
To cast the fashion of uncertain evils;
For grant they be so, while they rest unknown
What need a man forestall his date of grief,
And run to meet what he would most avoid?"
"Optima quaeque dies miseris mortalibus aevi
Prima fugit."
"From ignorance our comfort flows,
The only wretched are the wise."
This Ode, as we learn from one of Gray's letters to Walpole, was
finished, with the exception of a few lines, in 1755. It was not
for R. and J. DODSLEY in Pall-Mall.
says: "I hear we are not at all popular. The great objection is
them.
admirers of the Odes "the poor monthly critic of _The
In a letter to Beattie, dated Feb. 1, 1768, referring to the new
edition of his poems, he says: "As to the notes, I do it out of
history of England, by way of question and answer, for the use of
groups. A slight examination will show that the 1st, 4th, and 7th
(antistrophe), and [Greek: epôdos] (epodos)--the Turn, the
Counter-turn the reverse movement, the After-song something sung
constructed English odes. This system cannot be said to have
prospered with us. Perhaps no English ear would instinctively
recognize that correspondence between distant parts which is the
Cf. Cowley, _Ode of David_: "Awake, awake, my lyre!" Gray himself
various sources of poetry, which gives life and lustre to all it
"Pour the full tide of eloquence along,
Serenely pure, and yet divinely strong;"
and _Ode on St. Cecilia's Day_, 11:
"The deep, majestic, solemn organs blow;"
"In thy full language speaking mighty things,
Like a clear torrent close, or else diffus'd
A broad majestic stream, and rolling on
Through all the winding harmony of sound."
solemn-breathing sound."
translated by Wakefield thus:
"On Jove's imperial rod the king of birds
Drops down his flagging wings; thy thrilling sounds
Soothe his fierce beak, and pour a sable cloud
Of slumber on his eyelids: up he lifts
His flexile back, shot by thy piercing darts.
Mars smooths his rugged brow, and nerveless drops
His lance, relenting at the choral song."
"Every fowl of tyrant wing,
Save the eagle, feather'd king."
Idalia's groves."
velvet-green." It is also among the expressions of Pope which are
Idalium, sacrata sede," etc.
"Now to a slow and melting air she moves,
So like in air, in shape, in mien,
She passes for the Paphian queen;
The Graces all around her play,
The wondering gazers die away;
Whether her easy body bend,
Or her fair bosom heave with sighs;
Whether her graceful arms extend,
Or gently fall, or slowly rise;
Or returning or advancing,
Swimming round, or sidelong glancing,
Strange force of motion that subdues the soul."
juventae Purpureum." Gray quotes Phrynichus, _apud_ Athenæum:
pareiêisi phôs erôtos.]
See also Dryden, _Brit. Red._ 133: "and her own purple light."
"I do wonder,
Thou naughty gaoler, that thou art so fond
To come abroad with him at his request;"
"And I, poor monster, fond as much on him,
As she, mistaken, seems to dote on me."
"Night and her ugly subjects thou dost fright,
And Sleep, the lazy owl of night;
Asham'd and fearful to appear,
They screen their horrid shapes with the black hemisphere."
"One would have thought 't had heard the morning crow,
Or seen her well-appointed star.
Come marching up the eastern hill afar."
The following variations on 52 and 53 are found in the MS.:
Till fierce Hyperion from afar
Pours on their scatter'd rear, |
Hurls at   "   flying     "    | his glittering shafts of war.
"   o'er "   scatter'd  "    |
"    "   "   shadowy    "    |
Till   "   "      "       "   from far
Hyperion hurls around his, etc.
correctly accented by Drummond (of Hawthornden), _Wand. Muses_:
"That Hyperion far beyond his bed
Doth see our lions ramp, our roses spread;"
"Then Hyperion's son, pure fount of day,
Did to his children the strange tale reveal;"
"Blow, gentle Africus,
Play on our poops when Hyperion's son
Shall couch in west."
Hyperion was a Titan, the father of Helios (the Sun), Selene (the
"'Tis from these heights alone your eyes
The advancing spears of day can see,
Which o'er the eastern hill-tops rise,
To break your long captivity."
We may quote also his _Vision of Sir Launfal_:
"It seemed the dark castle had gathered all
Those shafts the fierce sun had shot over its wall
In his siege of three hundred summers long," etc.
"Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child,
Warble his native wood-notes wild;"
"numerisque fertur
Lege solutis."
"Such of late
Columbus found the American, so girt
With feather'd cincture."
Dugald Stewart (_Philos. of Human Mind_) says: "I cannot help
_Delphi's steep_. Cf. Milton, _Hymn on Nativ._ 178: "the steep of
"The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece!
Where burning Sappho loved and sung," etc.
alektrinon hudôr].
"Non secus ac liquidis Phrygiis Maeandros in arvis
Ludit, et ambiguo lapsu refluitque fluitque."
Cf. also Virgil's description of the Mincius (_Geo._ iii. 15):
"The lonely mountains o'er,
And the resounding shore,
A voice of weeping heard and loud lament;
From haunted spring and dale,
Edged with poplar pale,
The parting Genius is with sighing sent:" etc.
"While Rome could none esteem
But Virtue's patriot theme,
You lov'd her hills, and led her laureate band;
But staid to sing alone
To one distinguish'd throne,
And turn'd thy face, and fled her alter'd land."
"Here lies within this stony shade
Nature's darling; whom she made
Her fairest model, her brief story,
In him heaping all her glory."
On _green lap_, cf. Milton, _Song on May Morning_:
"The flowery May, who from her green lap throws
The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose."
"The Mighty Mother, and her Son, who brings
The Smithfield Muses to the ear of kings,
"On the green turf thy careless limbs display,
And celebrate the mighty mother's day."
"the child
Stretch'd forth its little arms, and on him smil'd."
See also Catullus, _In Nupt. Jun. et Manl._ 216:
"Torquatus volo parvulus
Matris e gremio suae
Porrigens teneras manus,
Dulce rideat."
"Nature, which favours to the few
All art beyond imparts,
To him presented at his birth
The key of human hearts."
Wakefield cites _Comus_, 12:
"Yet some there be, that with due steps aspire
To lay their hands upon that golden key
That opes the palace of eternity."
"Two massy keys he bore of metals twain;
The golden opes, the iron shuts amain."
Imagination_, "I _unlock_ the _springs_ of ancient wisdom."
"Up led by thee,
Into the heaven of heavens I have presumed,
An earthly guest, and drawn empyreal air."
"Whereon a sapphire throne, inlaid with pure
Amber, and colours of the showery arch;"
"He on the wings of cherub rode sublime,
On the crystalline sky, in sapphire throned."
noctem," which Dryden translates, "And closed her lids at last in
"Waller was smooth: but Dryden taught to join
The varying verse, the full-resounding line,
The long majestic march, and energy divine."
'Hark! heard ye not yon footstep dread!' etc." (Gray).
living lyre."
"Like to an Eagle, in his kingly pride
Soring through his wide Empire of the aire,
To weather his brode sailes."
"Lo! how the obsequious wind and swelling air
The Theban Swan does upward bear."
aitheros bathos]; and Lucretius, ii. 151: "Aëris in magnum fertur
"Yet when they first were open'd on the day
Before his visionary eyes would run."
We append, as a curiosity of criticism, Dr. Johnson's comments on
"My process has now brought me to the _wonderful_ 'Wonder of
Wonders,' the two Sister Odes, by which, though either vulgar
'verdant vales, roll down the steep amain,' so as that 'rocks and
"The second stanza, exhibiting Mars's car and Jove's eagle, is
"To the third it may likewise be objected that it is drawn from
mythology, though such as may be more easily assimilated to real
"Of the second ternary of stanzas, the first endeavours to tell
something, and would have told it, had it not been crossed by
forgive him who resolves to think it true.
"The third stanza sounds big with 'Delphi,' and 'Ægean,' and
"Of the third ternary, the first gives a mythological birth of
poetry. In that school he had himself learned to be a lofty and
vigorous declaimer in harmonious verse; beyond that school his
W. H. Prescott, the historian, also remarks that Johnson, as a
cold-blooded spirit of a chemist, until all the aroma which
Milton too, are rendered sufficiently vapid."]
The original argument of the ode, as Gray had set it down in his
commonplace-book, was as follows: "The army of Edward I., as they
himself from the mountain, and is swallowed up by the river that
rolls at its feet."
consequences of his guilt; that not even the virtues which he
'Helm nor hauberk's twisted mail,
Nor e'en thy _virtues_, tyrant, shall avail.'
This is the real tendency of the poem; and well worthy it was of
however, has given way to emotions of a nobler and more exalted
nature. What can be more magnificent than the vision which opens
'But oh! what 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!_'
'Hear from the grave, great Taliessin, hear;
They breathe a soul to animate thy clay.'
'Be thine despair, and sceptred care;
To triumph, and to die, are mine.'"
which commands only one moment of time, our memory must supply us
selected by the painter must be illustrated by the spectator's
critics to give laws to prophets, nor does it fall within the
confines of any human art to lay down rules for a species of
mentioned. This character, in my opinion, is possessed in a very
eminent degree by Mr. Gray's ode called _The Bard_. It is all
shadowings of general language. The first prophecy is the fate of
'Mark the _year_, and mark the _night_,
When _Severn_ shall re-echo with affright
The shrieks of death thro' Berkeley's roofs that ring,
Shrieks of an agonizing king.'
'The swarm that in thy noontide beam were born?
Gone to salute the rising morn.
Fair laughs the morn,' etc.
'Above, below, the rose of snow,
Twin'd with her blushing foe, we spread:
The bristled boar in infant gore
Wallows beneath the thorny shade.'"
"Gray was one of the first writers to show that earlier parts of
crested adder's pride."
"as Britannia's oaks
On Merlin's mount, or Snowdon's rugged sides,
Stand in the clouds."
The _rock_ is probably meant for Penmaen-mawr, the northern
termination of the Snowdon range. It is a mass of rock, 1545 feet
perpendicular front. On its summit is Braich-y-Dinas, an ancient
'With fury pale, and pale with woe,
Secure of Fate, the Poet stood,' etc.
Though _haggard_, which conveys to you the idea of a _witch_, is
indeed only a metaphor taken from an unreclaimed hawk, which is
hoarseness, like the comparative sometimes in Latin (Hales).
father's generals in his wars against the English, Flemings, and
_Soft Llewellyn's lay_. "The lay celebrating the mild Llewellyn,"
context, it would be better to take _Llewellyn_ here for a bard."
tender-hearted prince;" and another, by Llywarch Brydydd y Moch,
says: "Llewellyn, though in battle he killed with fury, though he
mead-horns were distributed." In an ode by Llygard Gwr he is also
"Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath,
That the rude sea grew civil at her song."
which tower high above the others, and on each of these is a
_carnedd_, or pile of stones. The highest of the three is further
beacons"--a name somehow corrupted into _Plinlimmon_. Five rivers
dilecta sorori."
"As dear to me as are the ruddy drops
That visit my sad heart."
Cf. also Otway, _Venice Preserved_:
"Dear as the vital warmth that feeds my life,
Dear as these eyes that weep in fondness o'er thee."
"the steep
Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie."
"Now the storm begins to lower
(Haste, the loom of hell prepare),
Iron sleet of arrowy shower
Hurtles in the darken'd air.
"Glittering lances are the loom,
Where the dusky warp we strain,
Weaving many a soldier's doom,
Orkney's woe, and Randver's bane.
"Shafts for shuttles, dipt in gore,
Shoot the trembling cords along;
Swords, that once a monarch bore,
Keep the tissue close and strong.
"(Weave the crimson web of war)
Let us go, and let us fly,
Where our friends the conflict share,
Where they triumph, where they die."
"I have a soul that, like an ample shield,
Can take in all, and verge enough for more."
approached by a gallery, is the room in which it is supposed that
"Moste blessed Jesu,
Roote of all vertue,
Graunte I may the sue,
In all humylyte,
Sen thou for our good,
Lyste to shede thy blood,
An stretche the upon the rood,
For our iniquyte.
I the beseche,
Most holsome leche,
That thou wylt seche
For me such grace,
That when my body vyle
My soule shall exyle
Thou brynge in short wyle
It in reste and peace."
"Where'er he does his dreadful standard bear,
Horror stalks in the van, and slaughter in the rear."
In _Agrippina_, a fragment of a tragedy, published among the
posthumous poems of Gray, we have the same figure:
"around thee call
The gilded swarm that wantons in the sunshine
Of thy full favour."
For this line and the remainder of the stanza, the MS. has the
following:
"Mirrors of Saxon truth and loyalty,
Your helpless, old, expiring master view!
They hear not: scarce religion does supply
Her mutter'd requiems, and her holy dew.
Yet thou, proud boy, from Pomfret's walls shalt send
A sigh, and envy oft thy happy grandsire's end."
On the passage as it stands, cf. Shakes. _M. of V._ ii. 6:
"How like a younger, or a prodigal,
The scarfed bark puts from her native bay," etc.
Also Spenser, _Visions of World's Vanitie_, ix:
"Looking far foorth into the Ocean wide,
A goodly ship with banners bravely dight,
And flag in her top-gallant, I espide
Through the maine sea making her merry flight.
Faire blew the winde into her bosome right;
And th' heavens looked lovely all the while
That she did seeme to daunce, as in delight,
And at her owne felicitie did smile," etc.;
and again, _Visions of Petrarch_, ii.:
"After, at sea a tall ship did appeare,
Made all of heben and white yvorie;
The sailes of golde, of silke the tackle were:
Milde was the winde, calme seem'd the sea to bee,
The skie eachwhere did show full bright and faire:
With rich treasures this gay ship fraighted was:
But sudden storme did so turmoyle the aire,
And tumbled up the sea, that she (alas)
Strake on a rock, that under water lay,
And perished past all recoverie."
"The goodly London, in her gallant trim,
The phoenix-daughter of the vanish'd old,
Like a rich bride does to the ocean swim,
And on her shadow rides in floating gold."
branches bend beneath their sweepy sway," etc.
"So, like a lion that unheeded lay,
Dissembling sleep, and watchful to betray,
With inward rage he meditates his prey;"
"And like a lion, slumbering in the way,
Or sleep dissembling, while he waits his prey."
assassination by Sir Piers of Exon is of much later date" (Gray).
"Such is the robe that kings must wear
When death has reft their crown."
Milton, _P. L._ ii. 846: "Grinn'd horrible a ghastly smile."
attributed to Julius Cæsar" (Gray). The MS. has "Grim towers."
_His father_. "Henry the Fifth" (Gray).
(Gray). See on _Eton Coll._ 4. The MS. has "hallow'd head."
'Tis not for shame, but anger, that thy cheeks
Blush for pure shame, to counterfeit our roses."
"Or her who knew that Love can vanquish Death,
Who kneeling, with one arm about her king,
Drew forth the poison with her balmy breath,
Sweet as new buds in spring."]
In the MS. this line and the next read thus:
"From Cambria's thousand hills a thousand strains
Triumphant tell aloud, another Arthur reigns."
accomplished in the house of Tudor" (Gray).
The reading in the MS. is,
"Youthful knights, and barons bold,
With dazzling helm, and horrent spear."
"Tell me, have ye seene her angelick face,
Like Phoebe fayre?
Her heavenly haveour, her princely grace,
Can you well compare?
The Redde rose medled with the White yfere,
In either cheeke depeincten lively chere;
Her modest eye,
Where have you seene the like but there?"
checkes'" (Gray). The MS. reads "A lion-port, an awe-commanding
As Hales remarks, there is no authority for connecting him with
Arthur, as Tennyson does in his _Holy Grail_.
"Her angel's face
As the great eye of heaven shined bright."
Cf. Shakes. _Rich. II._ iii. 2: "the searching eye of heaven."
"Wings he wore
Of many a colour'd plume sprinkled with gold."
"Fierce warres and faithful loves shall moralize my song."
On the couplet, cf. Dekker, _If this be not a good play_, etc.:
"Thinkest thou, base lord,
Because the glorious Sun behind black clouds
Has awhile hid his beams, he's darken'd forever,
Eclips'd never more to shine?"
describing a bard who had survived his companions:
"Sed jam nudaverat ensem
Magnanimus vates, et nunc trucis ora tyranni,
Nunc ferrum adspectans: 'Nunquam tibi sanguinis hujus
Jus erit, aut magno feries imperdita Tydeo
Pectora; _vado equidem exsultans_ et _ereptaque fata_
Insequor, et comites feror expectatus ad umbras;
_Te_ Superis, fratrique.' Et jam media orsa loquentis
Abstulerat plenum capulo latus."
Hupsou chronon patein, eme
Te tossade nikaphorois
"Praeceps aërii specula de montis in undas
Deferar; extremum hoc munus morientis habeto."
"'The Bard' appears, at the first view, to be, as Algarotti and
others have remarked, an imitation of the prophecy of Nereus.
Algarotti thinks it superior to its original; and, if preference
depends only on the imagery and animation of the two poems, his
"To select a singular event, and swell it to a giant's bulk by
fabulous appendages of spectres and predictions, has little
difficulty; for he that forsakes the probable may always find the
'Is there ever a man in all Scotland--'
sublimity.
Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topt head,' attention recoils from the
This poem first appeared in Dodsley's _Collection_, vol. iv.,
together with the "Elegy in a Country Churchyard." In Mason's and
leitet, ihn der fest den Satz
Stellet, 'Lehre durch das Leid.'"
Plumptre puts it into English as follows:
"Yea, Zeus, who leadeth men in wisdom's way,
And fixeth fast the law
Wisdom by pain to gain."
Cf. Mrs. Browning's _Vision of Poets_:
"Knowledge by suffering entereth,
And life is perfected by death."
"The vassals of his anger, when the scourge
Inexorable, and the torturing hour,
Calls us to penance."
_Messiah_, 47: "In adamantine chains shall Death be bound."
burned], or crushed: For _Prosperity_ doth best discover Vice;
But _Adversity_ doth best discover Vertue."
bright day that brings forth the adder."]
Cf. also Thomson:
"If Misfortune comes, she brings along
The bravest virtues. And so many great
Illustrious spirits have convers'd with woe,
Have in her school been taught, as are enough
To consecrate distress, and make ambition
E'en wish the frown beyond the smile of fortune."
"Hence, vain deluding Joys,
The brood of Folly, without father bred!"
leisure to be good."
"_Timon_ [_aside_]. Nor more willingly leaves winter; such
summer-birds are men;"
"For men, like butterflies,
Shew not their mealy wings but to the summer."
Mitford suggests that Gray had in mind Horace, _Od._ i. 35, 25:
"At vulgus infidum et meretrix retro
Perjura cedit; diffugiunt cadis
Cum faece siccatis amici
Ferre jugum pariter dolosi."
"Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes;
There, held in holy passion still,
Forget thyself to marble, till
With a sad leaden downward cast
Thou fix them on the earth as fast."
Mitford cites Sidney, _Astrophel and Stella_, song 7: "So leaden
"To servants kind, to friendship dear,
To nothing but herself severe;"
"lenient, not unpleasing tear."
Gorgonian terror."
"these are counsellors
That feelingly persuade me what I am.
Sweet are the uses of adversity,
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
"Who hath not known ill-fortune, never knew
Himself, or his own virtue."
Guizot, in his _Cromwell_, says: "The effect of supreme and
Headlong, impetuous, see it pour;
The rocks and nodding groves rebellow to the roar."
reviewer remarks:
nature of poetry; and, secondly, a false standard of poetical
sufficiently strong to typify the connection betwixt prose and
metrical composition?'
latter could have been expressed at all in metre, or the former
"'This mighty power, the perpetual antagonist of reason, which
"If such be the force of Imagination in active life, how absolute
believe Wordsworth, who defines poetry to be 'the spontaneous
'Cui lecta potenter erit res
Nec facundia deseret hunc nec lucidus ordo,'
wishes to be read--and a poem without readers is no more than a
musical instrument without a musician--he has to consider the
character of his audience. He must have all the instinct of an
hearts of men, and to subdue, by the charms of eloquence, their
passions, their prejudices, and their judgment. To achieve such
poetry of Gray looks meagre indeed; yet almost every poem in this
feelings of the reader, as Virgil roused the pride of his own
emphasizing the irony of his reflection by the beautiful touch of
"Yet, in spite of his love of form, there is nothing frigid or
statuesque in the genius of Gray. A vein of deep melancholy,
verses is undoubtedly large. But he is entirely free from that
egotism which we have had frequent occasion to blame as the
confession of his sorrows, Gray's references to himself are
introduced on public grounds, or, in other words, with a view to
'The tender for _another's_ pain,
The unfeeling for his own.'
'Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade!
Ah, fields belov'd in vain!
Where once my careless childhood play'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.'
Every one will perceive the art which enforces the truth of the
general reflections that follow by the personal experience of the
allusion which, as it is a climax, might, if ill-managed, have
'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!'
There is something very noble in the elevated manner in which the
'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,' etc.
"The two great characteristics of Gray's poetry that we have
Goldsmith are perhaps the most shining examples, but the rest are
countryman of Chatham."
Attic warbler, 95.