DAVID GARRICK. 1716-1779.

HEIR cause I plead,-plead it in heart and mind;

THEIR

A fellow feeling makes one wondrous kind.*

Prologue on Quitting the Stage in 1766, 10th June.

Let others hail the rising sun :

I bow to that whose race is run.

On the Death of Mr. Pelham.

Heaven sends us good meat, but the devil sends cooks.

Epigram on Goldsmith's Retaliation.

THOMAS GRAY. 1716-1771.

ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE.

A

H, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade!

Ah, fields beloved in vain!

Where once my careless childhood strayed,

A stranger yet to pain.

They hear a voice in every wind,

And snatch a fearful joy.

The tear forgot as soon as shed,

The sunshine of the breast.

* I would help others, out of a fellow-feeling.-BURTON. Anatomy of Melancholy; Democritus to the Reader.

Non ignara mali, miseris succurrere disco.

VIRGIL. Eneid, Lib. i. 630.

P

Alas! regardless of their doom,
The little victims play;

Nor sense have they of ills to come,
Nor care beyond' to-day.

And moody madness laughing wild,
Amid severest woe.

To each his sufferings: all are men,
Condemned alike to groan;

The tender for another's pain,
The unfeeling for his own.

Since sorrow never comes too late,
And happiness too swiftly flies.

Where ignorance is bliss,

'T is folly to be wise.*

THE PROGRESS OF POESY.

O'er her warm cheek, and rising bosom, move
The bloom of young desire, and purple light of Love.

Parti. St. 3.

Ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears.

The living throne, the sapphire blaze,
Where angels tremble while they gaze,

* From ignorance our comfort flows,

The only wretched are the wise.

Part iii. St. 1.

PRIOR. To the Hon. Charles Montague.

He that increaseth knowledge, increaseth sorrow. Ecclesiastes i. 18.

He saw; but, blasted with excess of light,

Closed his eyes in endless night.

Bright-eyed Fancy, hovering o'er,

Scatters from her pictured urn

Part iii. St. 2.

Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.*

Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate,

Part ii. St. 3.

Beneath the good how far-but far above the Great.

THE BARD.

Part iii. St. 3.

Loose his beard, and hoary hair

Streamed like a meteor to the troubled air.+

Parti. St. 2.

Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes;
Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart.‡

Give ample room, and verge enough,§
The characters of Hell to trace.

* Words that weep and tears that speak.

COWLEY.

† An harmless flaming meteor shone for hair,
And fell adown his shoulders with loose care.

Parti. St. 3.

Part ii. St. 1.

The Prophet.

COWLEY. Davideis. Book ii. Line 102.
The imperial ensign, which full high advanced,
Shone like a meteor streaming to the wind.

Paradise Lost. Booki. Line 536.

As dear to me as are the ruddy drops
That visit my sad heart.

Julius Cæsar. Act ii. Sc. I.

Dear as the vital warmth that feeds my life;
Dear as these eyes that weep in fondness o'er thee.
OTWAY. Venice Preserved.

§ I have a soul that like an ample shield,
Can take in all, and verge enough for more.

Act v.

DRYDEN. Don Sebastian. Acti. Sc. 1.

Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm.

Visions of glory, spare my aching sight.

Part ii. St. 2.

Part iii. St. 1.

And truth severe, by fairy fiction drest. Part. iii. St. 3.

The still small voice of gratitude.

Ode to Music. Line 64.

ELEGY IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD.

Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.

Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile
The short and simple annals of the poor.

The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

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?

Hands, that the rod of empire might have swayed,
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre.

But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page

Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll.*

* Rich with the spoils of nature.-Sir THOMAS BROWNE. Relig. Med. Part i. Sect. xiii.

Full many a gem of purest ray serene

The dark unfathomed 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.

To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,

And read their history in a nation's eyes.

Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind.

Along the cool sequestered vale of life,
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.

Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.

And many a holy text around she strews,
That teach the rustic moralist to die.

Nor cast one longing lingering look behind.

E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries,
E'en in our ashes, live their wonted fires.+

* Nor waste their sweetness in the desert air.
CHURCHILL. Gotham. Book II.

Yet in our ashen cold is fire yreken.

CHAUCER. Reve's Prologue.