Or Danish chiefs, enriched with savage spoil, To Victory's idol vast, an unhewn shrine, Reared the rude heap: or, in thy hallowed round, Or here those kings in solemn state were crowned: SONNET TO THE RIVER LODON Ah! what a weary race my feet have run, Where first my Muse to lisp her notes begun! Much pleasure, more of sorrow, marks the scene. From youth's gay dawn to manhood's prime mature; THOMAS GRAY ODE ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE Ye distant spires, ye antique towers, And ye, that from the stately brow Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey, His silver-winding way. Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade! I feel the gales that from ye blow, As waving fresh their gladsome wing, Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen To chase the rolling circle's speed, While some on earnest business bent 'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint Some bold adventurers disdain The limits of their little reign, And unknown regions dare descry: Still as they run they look behind, Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed, 1 1 Theirs buxom health of rosy hue, And lively cheer of vigour born; Alas! regardless of their doom, Yet see how all around 'em wait The ministers of human fate, And black Misfortune's baleful train! Ah, shew them where in ambush stand To seize their prey the murderous band! Ah, tell them, they are men! These shall the fury Passions tear, And Shame that skulks behind; That inly gnaws the secret heart, And Envy wan, and faded Care, Grim-visaged comfortless Despair, And Sorrow's piercing dart. Ambition this shall tempt to rise, And grinning Infamy. The stings of Falsehood those shall try, And hard Unkindness' altered eye, That mocks the tear it forced to flow; And keen Remorse with blood defiled, And moody Madness laughing wild Amid severest woe. Lo, in the vale of years beneath A grisly troop are seen, The painful family of Death, More hideous than their Queen: This racks the joints, this fires the veins, That numbs the soul with icy hand, To each his sufferings; all are men, Yet, ah! why should they know their fate, And happiness too swiftly flies? HYMN TO ADVERSITY Daughter of Jove, relentless power, When first thy sire to send on earth And bade to form her infant mind. What sorrow was thou bad'st her know, And from her own she learned to melt at other's woe. Scared at thy frown terrific, fly Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood, Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy, The summer friend, the flattering foe; By vain Prosperity received, To her they vow their truth and are again believed. Wisdom in sable garb arrayed, Immersed in rapturous thought profound, And Melancholy, silent maid With leaden eye, that loves the ground, Still on thy solemn steps attend; Warm Charity, the genial 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, O goddess, wear, Thy philosophic train be there To soften, not to wound, my heart; The generous spark extinct revive, Exact my own defects to scan, What others are to feel, and know myself a man. |