ODE

ON

THE DEATH OF MR. GRAY,

BY THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE

EARL OF CARLISLE.

WHAT spirit's that which mounts on high,
Borne on the arms of every tuneful Muse?
His white robes flutter to the gale:
They wing their way to yonder opening sky,
In glorious state through yielding clouds they sail,

And scents of heavenly flowers on earth diffuse.

What avails the poet's art?

What avails his magic hand?

Can he arrest death's pointed dart,
Or charm to sleep his murderous band?
Well I know thee, gentle shade!

That tuneful voice, that eagle eye.-
Quick bring me flowers that ne'er shall fade,
The laurel wreath that ne'er shall die;

With every honour deck his funeral bier,
For he to every Grace, and every Muse was dear!

The listening Dryad, with attention still,
On tiptoe oft would near the poet steal,
To hear him sing upon the lonely hill

Of all the wonders of th' expanded vale,
The distant hamlet, and the winding stream,
The steeple shaded by the friendly yew,
Sunk in the wood the sun's departing gleam,

The grey-rob'd landscape stealing from the view. [56] Or wrapt in solemn thought, and pleasing woe, O'er each low tomb he breath'd his pious strain, A lesson to the village swain,

And taught the tear of rustic grief to flow!

[57] But soon with bolder note, and wilder flight, O'er the loud strings his rapid hand would run : Mars hath lit his torch of war,

Ranks of heroes fill the sight!
Hark! the carnage is begun!

[56] This alludes to Mr. Gray's Elegy written in a Country Church-yard.

[57] The Bard, a Pindaric Ode.

And see the furies through the fiery air
O'er Cambria's frighten'd land the screams of herrer

bear!

[58] Now led by playful Fancy's hand

O'er the white surge he treads with printless feet,
To magic shores he flies, and fairy land,

Imagination's blest retreat.

Here roses paint the crimson way,
No setting sun, eternal May,
Wild as the priestess of the Thracian fane,
When Bacchus leads the madd'ning train,
His bosom glowing with celestial fire,
To harmony he struck the golden lyre;
To harmony each hill and valley rung!
The bird of Jove, as when Apollo sung,
To melting bliss resign'd his furious soul,
With milder rage his eyes began to roll,
The heaving down his thrilling joys confest,
Till by a mortal's hand subdued he sunk to rest.
[59] O, guardian angel of our early day,
Henry, thy darling plant must bloom no more!

[58] The Progress of Poetry, a Pindaric Ode. [59] Ode on a distant Prospect of Eton College.

By thee attended, pensive would he stray,

Where Thames soft-murmuring laves his winding

shore.

Thou bad'st him raise the moralizing song,

Through life's new seas the little bark to steer; The winds are rude and high, the sailor young; Thoughtless he spies no furious tempest near, Till to the poet's hand the helm you gave, From hidden rocks an infant crew to save!

[60] Ye fiends who rankle in the human heart, Delight in woe, and triumph in our tears,

Resume again

Your dreadful reign :

Prepare the iron scourge, prepare the venom'd dart, Adversity no more with lenient airs appear :

The snakes that twine about thy head

Again their frothy poison shed;

For who can now her whirlwind flight controul,
Her threatening rage beguile ?

He who could still the tempest of her soul,

And force her livid lips to smile,

To happier seats is fled!

[60] Hymn to Adversity.

2

Now seated by his Thracian sire, At the full feast of mighty Jove To heavenly themes attunes his lyre, And fills with harmony the realms above!