The struggling pangs of conscious Truth to hide, With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. Yet e'en these bones from insult to protect, Some frail memorial still erected nigh, With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture1 deck'd Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd Muse, For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, Some pious drops the closing eye requires; If chance, by lonely Contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, To meet the sun upon the upland lawn: "There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech, That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, "Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove; Now drooping, woful wan, like one forlorn, Or crazed with Care, or cross'd in hopeless Love. L-Gray's Elegy, is there an image more striking than his 'shapeless sculpture ?"—Lord Byron. 2 Ia the first edition it stood, 'Awake and faithful to her wonted fires,' and I think rather better. He means to say, in plain prose, that we wish to be remembered by our friends after our death, in the same manner as when alive we wished to be remembered by them in our absence: this would be expressed clearer, if the metaphorical term 'fires' was rejected, and the line run thus: 'Awake and faithful to her first desires.' I do not put this alteration down for the idle vanity of aiming to amend the passage, but purely to explain it."-Mason. "One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill, 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 : THE EPITAPH. Here rests his head upon the lap of earth A youth, to Fortune and to Fame unknown: 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.2 ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE.3 Ye distant spires, ye antique towers,4 1 "Between this line and the Epitaplı, Mr. Gray originally inserted a very beautiful stanza, which was printed in some of the first editions, but afterwards omitted, because he thought (and in my opinion very justly) that it was too long a parenthesis in this place. The lines, however, are, in themselves, exquisitely fine, and demand preservation."-Mason. "There scatter'd oft, the earliest of the year, By hands unseen are showers of violets found; 2 This epitaph has been commented on, and translated into different languages, by various men of eminence, most of them divines. Did it never occur to any of these, that there was an impropriety in making the "bosom” of Almighty God an abode for human frailty to repose in? Unless, therefore, the author meant by the word "bosom" only remembrance, there is certainly a great inconsistency In the expression. 3" Gray has, in his ode on Eton College, whether we consider the sweetness of the versification or its delicious train of plaintive tenderness, rivalled every lyric effort of ancient or of modern date.”—Drake's Literary Hours, ii. 84. 4 These spires and towers are addressed by the poet without any use or intention; for nothing is afterwards asserted of them, and they are introduced only to be dismissed in silence, and without further notice. The Towers of London, in the second epode of the "Bard," are not apostrophized with so little meaning. 6 King Henry the Sixth, founder of the College. So in the Bard, ii. 3: "And spare the meek usurfer's holy head." Shakspeare, in Richard the Third, twice applies the same epithet; and in the Installation Ode our author's expression, murdered saint, is applicable enough (notwithstanding Henry was never actually canonized) to the monarch who, as has been well said, would have adorned a cloister, though he disgraced a crown. And ye, that from the stately brow Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey, Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among1 His silver-winding way.2 Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade !3 Where once my careless childhood stray'd, I feel the gales that from ye blow A momentary bliss bestow, As waving fresh their gladsome wing; To breathe a second spring. Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen5 The paths of pleasure trace; To chase the rolling circle's speed, 1 "That is, the turf of whose lawn, the shade of whose grove, the flowers of whose mead. So in Shakspeare:- The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's eye, tongue, sword; that is, 'The courtier's eye, the soldier's sword, the scholar's tongue. This singularity often occurs in Mr. Pope."-Wakefield. 2 Mr. Wakefield has a complaint against this compound epithet. The silver-shedding tears of Shakspeare, Two Gent. of Ver. Act. iii. sc. 1, and the silver-quivering rills of Pope, might perhaps have reconciled him to it, if he had recollected them. Both these expressions, as well as one from Dart's "Westminster Abbey," "Where Thames in silver-currents winds his way," are cited in this place by Mr. Mitford. 3 Mr. Wakefield here quotes from the "Odyssey," O. 397. And it may be remarked, that the ancients were by no means unacquainted with that species of pathos which is derived from the melancholy delight of early remembrance. The feeling which induces us to dress up the past in a fancied superiority of enjoyment, is natural and universal; nor can the indulgence of it be pernicious, so ong as it does not interfere with the necessary energies of the present hour. 4 "And bees their honey redolent of spring." Dryden's Pythag. System. As Gray refers this expression to Dryden, it is probable that he was not acquainted with any ear Her authority. Dr. Johnson is highly offended at it, as passing beyond the utmost limits of our language, and of common apprehension. The critic, perhaps, never in his life partook of the feelings here described, or possibly he would not have objected to the expression. 5 The ill-natured criticism of Dr. Johnson on this line cannot be refuted better than it has been by Mr. Mitford. "His supplication to Father Thames, to tell him who drives the hoop, or tosses the ball, is useless and puerile. Father Thames had no better means of knowing than himself.”—Are we by this rule of criticism to judge the following passage in the twentieth chapter of Rasselas! "As they were sitting together, the princess cast her eyes on the river that flowed before her: Answer, said she, great Father of Waters, thou that rollest thy floods through eighty nations, to the Invocation of the daughter of thy native àing. Tell me, if thou waterest, through all thy course, a single habitation, from wnich tnou dost not hear the murmurs of complaint." While some, on earnest business bent, 'Gainst graver hours that bring constraint Some bold adventurers disdain The limits of their little reign, And unknown regions dare descry: Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed,1 And lively cheer, of vigor born Alas! regardless of their doom, No sense have they of ills to come, Yet see how all around them wait2 The ministers of human fate, And black Misfortune's baleful train! These shall the fury Passions tear,s And Shame that skulks behind; That inly gnaws the secret heart; Ambition this shall tempt to rise, Then whirl the wretch from high And grinning Infamy. 1 "This is at once poetical and just: and yet there seems to be an impropriety in the next verse:Less pleasing when possest: for though the object of hope may truly be said to be less pleasing in possession than in the fancy; yet Hope in person cannot possibly be possessed.”— Wakefield. 2 "This representation of the ministers of Fate, and the two succeeding stanzas, which exhibit the variety of human passions, with their several attributes, blends moral instruction with all the aul mation and sublimity of poetry."- Wakefield. 3 "I do not know that any poet, ancient or modern, has given so complete a picture of the passions in so short a compass."- Wakefield. The stings of Falsehood those shall try, That mocks the tear it forced to flow; Lo! in the vale of years beneath1 The painful family of Death, More hideous than their queen: Those in the deeper vitals rage: To each his sufferings: all are men, The tender for another's pain, Yet, ah! why should they know their fate, And happiness too swiftly flies? SONG. Thyrsis, when we parted, swore 1 A most happy idea; and the whole stanza is exquisitely beautiful, and will not be disgraced by appearing in the same view with a passage in "Paradise Lost," where description is carried to its highest pitch of excellence: "Immediately a place Before his eyes appear'd, sad, noisome, dark; A lazar-house it seem'd; wherein were laid Numbers of all diseased; all maladies of ghastly spasm, or racking torture, qualms Dropsies, and asthmas, and joint-racking rheums. Tended the sick, busied from couch to couch; Book xi. ver. 477. |