FAIR are the gardens of the Aonian mount,
And sweet those blooming flowers

Which paint the Maiden's bowers;
And clear the waters of the gurgling fount:
Swift they wind through chequered alleys;
Huddling down to th' open valleys;

Where the quick ripple in the sunbeams plays,
Turning to endless forms each glance of twinkling

blaze.

O'er the gay scene th' enamoured inmates roam;
And gather fresh ideas as they rise
From Nature's manifold supplies.

Alas! for whom?

Many a gleam of sprightly thought,
Many a sad and sable mood,

Whether from dazzling lustre brought,

Or nursed by shades of darksome wood,

Keep death-like silence on their native shore,

Since he, that gave them speech, is heard no more.
Flown is the spirit of Gray,

Like common breath, to mingle with the air:
Yet still those Goddesses' peculiar care,
That breathe harmonious lay.

Retired to yonder grassy mound

In leaves of dusky hue encompassed round,
They bid their plaintive accents fill
The covert hollows of the bosomed hill:
With liquid voice and magic hand

Calliope informs the band:

Hushed are the warblers of the grove, attentive to

the sound.

"Soft and slow

Let the melting measures flow,

Nor lighter air disturb majestic woe.
And thou, sage Priestess of our holy fire,
Who sawest the Poet's flame expire,

Thy precious drops profusely shed
O'er his well-deserving head.

Thou nurtur'd'st once a grateful throng,

When Milton poured the sweets of song
On Lycidas sunk low.

a

Cambridge University, where Gray died.

b In 1638 the University published a volume of poems to the memory of Mr. Edward King, Milton's Lycidas.

"Now wake that faithful lyre-mute dulness reigns: Your echoes waft no more the friendly theme; Clogged with thick vapours from the neighbouring plains,

Where old Cam hardly moves his sluggard stream.
But when some public cause

Claims festive song, or more melodious tear,
Discordant murmurs grate mine ear.

Ne'er modelled by Pierian laws,
Then idly glares full many a motley toy,
Anacreontic grief, and creeping strains of joy.

"Far other modes were thine,

Victim of hasty fate,

Whom now the powers of melody deplore;
Whether in lofty state

Thou badest thy train divine

Of raptures on Pindaric pinions soar;
Or hoping from thyself to fly

To childhood's careless scenes",
Thou sentest a warm refreshing eye
On Nature's faded greens:

"Or when thy calm and stedfast mind With philosophic reach profound Self-pleasing vanities resigned,

See Gray's Pindaric Odes.

d Ode on a distant Prospect of Eton College.

Fond of the look, that loves the ground;
Discerned by Reason's equal light,
How gaudy Fortune cheats the sight;
While the coarse Maid, inured to pain,

Supports the labouring heart, and Virtue's happiest reign.

"But most the music of thy plaintive moanf With lengthened note detains the listening ear, As lost in thought thou wanderest all alone, Where spirits hover round their mansions drear.

By Contemplation's eye serenely viewed,
Each lowly object wears an awful mien :
'Tis our own blindness veils the latent good:
The works of Nature need but to be seen.

"Thou sawest her beaming from the hamlet sires Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade; Where now, still faithful to their wonted fires,

Thy own dear ashes are for ever laid."

e Hymn to Adversity. f Churchyard Elegy.

8 Gray was buried at Stoke, the scene of the Elegy.

bs

EPITAPH

ON

MR. GRAY'S MONUMENT,

IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

BY MR. MASON.

No more the Grecian Muse unrivalled reigns;
To Britain let the nations homage pay!
She boasts a Homer's fire in Milton's strains,
A Pindar's rapture in the lyre of Gray.