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No cold or unperforming hand

Was arm'd by Heaven with this command.
The world soon felt it: and, on high,
To William's ear with welcome joy
Did Locke among the blest unfold
The rising hope of Hoadly's name,
Godolphin then confirm'd the fame;
And Somers, when from Earth he came,
And generous Stanhope the fair sequel told.

Then drew the lawgivers around,
(Sires of the Grecian name renown'd,)
And listening ask'd, and wondering knew,
What private force could thus subdue
The vulgar and the great combin'd;
Could war with sacred Folly wage;
Could a whole nation disengage

From the dread bonds of many an age,
And to new habits mould the public mind.

For not a conqueror's sword,

Nor the strong powers to civil founders known, Were his but truth by faithful search explor'd, And social sense, like seed, in genial plenty sown. Wherever it took root, the soul (restor'd To freedom) freedom too for others sought. Not monkish craft, the tyrant's claim divine, Not regal zeal, the bigot's cruel shrine, Could longer guard from reason's warfare sage; Not the wild rabble to sedition wrought, Nor synods by the papal genius taught, Nor St. John's spirit loose, nor Atterbury's rage.


But where shall recompense be found?
Or how such arduous merit crown'd?
For look on life's laborious scene;
What rugged spaces lie between
Adventurous Virtue's early toils

And her triumphal throne! The shade
Of Death, meantime, does oft invade
Her progress; nor, to us display'd,

Wears the bright heroine her expected spoils.

Yet born to conquer is her power:
-O Hoadly, if that favorite hour
On Earth arrive, with thankful awe
We own just Heaven's indulgent law.
And proudly thy success behold;
We attend thy reverend length of days
With benediction and with praise,
And hail thee in our public ways

Like some great spirit fam'd in ages old.

While thus our vows prolong

Thy steps on Earth, and when by us resign'd Thou join'st thy seniors, that heroic throng Who rescued or preserv'd the rights of human-kind, O! not unworthy may thy Albion's tongue Thee still, her friend and benefactor, name : O! never, Hoadly, in thy country's eyes, May impious gold, or pleasure's gaudy prize, Make public virtue, public freedom, vile; Nor our own manners tempt us to disclaim That heritage, our noblest wealth and fame, Which thou hast kept entire from force and factious guile.


upon him; in return for which he wrote his "Ode for Music," for the installation of that nobleman chancellor of the university. This professorship though founded in 1724, had hitherto remained a perfect sinecure; but Gray prepared himself execute the duties of his office. Such, howeve were the baneful effects of habitual indolence, the

THOMAS GRAY, a distinguished poet, was the son [laureate, vacant by the death of Cibber, was offered of a money-scrivener in London, where he was to Gray, but declined by him. In the same year be born in 1716. He received his education at Eton-published two odes, "On the Progress of Poesy." school, whence he was sent to the university of and "The Bard," which were not so popular as his Cambridge, and entered as a pensioner at St. Peter's Elegy had been, chiefly, perhaps, because they wer College. He left Cambridge in 1738, and occu- less understood. The uniform life passed by thi pied a set of chambers in the Inner Temple, for eminent person admits of few details, but the trans the purpose of studying the law. From this inten-action respecting the professorship of modern history tion he was diverted by an invitation to accompany at Cambridge, a place worth four hundred pounds Mr. Horace Walpole, son of the celebrated states- a year, is worthy of some notice. When the situa man, with whom he had made a connexion at Eton, tion became vacant in Lord Bute's administratie in a tour through Europe. Some disagreement, it was modestly asked for by Gray, but had already of which Mr. Walpole generously took the blame, been bespoken by another. On a second vacancy caused them to separate in Italy; and Gray return-in 1768, the Duke of Grafton being now in power, ed to England in September, 1741, two months be- it was, "unsolicited and unsuspected," conferre. fore his father's death. Gray, who now depended chiefly upon his mother and aunt, left the law, and returned to his retirement at Cambridge. In the next year he had the misfortune to lose his dear friend West, also an Eton scholar, and son to the Chancellor of Ireland, which left a vacancy in his affections, that seems never to have been supplied. From this time his residence was chiefly at Cam-with a mind replete with ancient and modern know bridge, to which he was probably attached by an in- ledge, he found himself unable to proceed farther satiable love of books, which he was unable to grati- than to draw a plan for his inauguration speech fy from his own stores. Some years passed in this But his health was now declining; an irregul favorite indulgence, in which his exquisite learning hereditary gout made more frequent attacks and poetic talents were only known to a few friends; formerly; and at length, while he was dining in the and it was not till 1747, that his "Ode on a distant College-hall, he was seized with a complaint in the Prospect of Eton College" made its appearance be- stomach, which carried him off on July 30, 1771, fore the public. It was in 1751 that his celebrated the fifty-fifth year of his age. His remains wer Elegy written in a Country Church-yard," chiefly deposited, with those of his mother and aunt, in the composed some years before, and even now sent church-yard of Stoke-Pogis, Buckinghamshire. into the world without the author's name, made its It is exclusively as a poet that we record the way to the press. Few poems were ever so popu- name of Gray; and it will, perhaps, be though lar: it soon ran through eleven editions; was that we borrow too large a share from a single sm translated into Latin verse, and has ever since borne volume; yet this should be considered as indicative the marks of being one of the most favorite pro- of the high rank which he has attained, compared ductions of the British Muse. with the number of his compositions. With respect

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In the manners of Gray there was a degree of to his character as a man of learning, since his s effeminacy and fastidiousness which exposed him to quisitions were entirely for his own use, and pr the character of a fribble; and a few riotous young duced no fruits for the public, it has no claim men of fortune in his college thought proper to particular notice. For though he has been called make him a subject for their boisterous tricks. He by one of his admirers "perhaps the most learned made remonstrances to the heads of the society man in Europe," never was learning more throws upon this usage, which being treated, as he thought, away. A few pieces of Latin poetry are all that he without due attention, he removed in 1756 to Pem-has to produce.

broke-hall. In the next year, the office of poet



Τὸν φρονεῖν βροζὺς ὁδώσανζα, τῷ πάθει μαθὼν Θέντα κυρίως έχειν.

Eschylus, in Agamemnone.

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,


THE curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd winds 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 for ever laid,

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.

The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn,
The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed,

And from her own she learn'd to melt at others' woe. The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,

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,

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 terrors clad,

Nor 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, oh, 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.

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 a-field! 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, Await 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 Honor'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 ecstacy 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.

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With antic sports and blue-ey'd 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 arts 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, Labor 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


In climes beyond the solar road,

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 bare

Two coursers of ethereal race,t

With necks in thunder cloth'd, and long-resounding pace.

Hark, his hands the lyre explore!
Bright-ey'd 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? though he inherit
Nor the pride, nor ample pinion,
That the Theban eagle bear,
Sailing with supreme dominion

Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam, Through the azure deep of air:

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, oh 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 colors clear Richly paint the vernal year:

* Shakspeare.

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.


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 through 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'er-canopies 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 ardor 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 through the peopled air
The busy murmur glows!

† Milton.

Meant to express the stately march and sounding energy of Dryden's rhymes.

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