Homepage
Login
Profile
BookClubs
dmBox
Read Ebook: Select Poems of Thomas Gray by Gray Thomas Carruthers Robert Contributor Rolfe W J William James Editor
Font size:
Background color:
Text color:
Add to tbrJar First Page Next Page
Ebook has 520 lines and 41926 words, and 11 pages
PAGE THE LIFE OF THOMAS GRAY, BY ROBERT CARRUTHERS . . . . 9
STOKE-POGIS, BY WILLIAM HOWITT . . . . . . . . . . . 16
ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD . . . . . . . . 23
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43
ON THE SPRING . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45
ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE CAT . . . . . . . . . . 48
ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE . . . . . . . 50
THE PROGRESS OF POESY . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 55
THE BARD . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 61
HYMN TO ADVERSITY . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 68
NOTES . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 71
INDEX . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 145
THE LIFE OF THOMAS GRAY.
BY ROBERT CARRUTHERS.
They were all in all to each other. The father's cruelty and neglect, their straitened circumstances, the sacrifices made by the mother to maintain her son at the university, her pride in the talents and conduct of that son, and the increasing gratitude and affection of the latter, nursed in his scholastic and cloistered solitude--these form an affecting but noble record in the history of genius.
Various editions of the collected works of Gray have been published. The first, including memoirs of his life and his correspondence, edited by his friend, the Rev. W. Mason, appeared in 1775. It has been often reprinted, and forms the groundwork of the editions by Mathias and Mitford . Mr. Mitford, in 1843, published Gray's correspondence with the Rev. Norton Nicholls; and in 1854 another collection of Gray's letters was published, edited also by Mr. Mitford. Every scrap of the poet's MSS. is eagerly sought after, and every year seems to add to his popularity as a poet and letter-writer.
In 1778 a monument to Gray was erected in Westminster Abbey by Mason, with the following inscription:
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.
STOKE-POGIS.
FROM HOWITT'S "HOMES AND HAUNTS OF THE BRITISH POETS."
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.
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.
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 THOMAS GRAY, Was erected A.D. 1799, Among the scenery Celebrated by that great Lyric and Elegiac Poet. He died in 1771, 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.
"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 within, as any village church can well be. No village, however, is to be seen. Stoke consists chiefly of scattered houses, and this is now in the midst of the park. In the churchyard,
"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."
No testimony of the interment of Gray in the same tomb was inscribed anywhere till Mr. Penn, in 1799, erected the monument already mentioned, and placed a small slab in the wall, under the window, opposite to the tomb itself, recording the fact of Gray's burial there. The whole scene is well worthy of a summer day's stroll, especially for such as, pent in the metropolis, know how to enjoy the quiet freshness of the country and the associations of poetry and the past.
ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD.
ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD.
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, 5 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 10 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, 15 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. 20
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, 25 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; 30 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. 35 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. 40
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 45 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; 50 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, 55 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. 60
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,
Add to tbrJar First Page Next Page