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"In silent gaze the tuneful choir among, Half pleased, but blushing, let the muse admire, While Bently leads her sister art along,

And bids the pencil answer to the lyre.

See, in their course each transitory thought,
Fixed by his touch, a lasting essence take;
Each dream, in fancy's airy colouring wrought,
To local symmetry and life awake!

The tardy rhymes, that used to linger on,
To censure cold, and negligent of fame;
In swifter measures animated run,

And catch a lustre from his genuine flame.

Ah! could they catch his strength, his easy grace,
His quick creation, his unerring line;
The energy of Pope they might efface,

And Dryden's harmony submit to mine.

But not to one in this benighted age

Is that diviner inspiration given,

That burns in Shakspeare's or in Milton's page,
The pomp and prodigality of Heaven.

As when conspiring in the diamond's blaze,
The meaner gems, that singly charm the sight,
Together dart their intermingled rays,

And dazzle with a luxury of light.

Enough for me, if, to some feeling breast
My lines a secret sympathy impart,
And as their pleasing influence flows confessed,
A sigh of soft reflection heave the heart."

It appears, by a letter to Dr. Wharton, that Gray finished his Ode on the Progress of Poetry early in 1755; the Bard was also begun about the same time; and the following beautiful fragment on the Pleasure arising from Vicissitude the next year. The merit of the two former pieces was not immediately perceived, nor generally acknowledged. Garrick wrote a few lines in their praise. Lloyd and Colman wrote, in concert, two Odes to "Oblivion" and "Obscurity," in which they were ridiculed with much ingenuity.

Now the golden morn aloft

Weaves her dew-bespangled wing With vermil cheek, and whisper soft, She woos the tardy spring; Till April starts, and calls around The sleeping fragrance from the ground, And lightly o'er the living scene Scatters his freshest tenderest green.

New-born flocks, in rustic dance,

Frisking ply their feeble feet; Forgetful of their wintery trance,

The birds his presence greet; But chief the skylark warbles high His trembling, thrilling ecstasy;

And, lessening from the dazzled sight, Melts into air and liquid light.

Yesterday the sullen year

Saw the snowy whirlwind fly; Mute was the music of the air, The herd stood drooping by; Their raptures now, that wildly flow, No yesterday nor morrow know; 'Tis man alone that joy descries With forward and reverted eyes.

Smiles on past misfortune's brow

Soft reflection's hand can trace, And o'er the cheek of sorrow throw

A melancholy grace: While hope prolongs our happier hour, Or deepest shades, that dimly lour, And blacken round our weary way, Gilds with a gleam of distant day.

Still where rosy pleasure leads,

See a kindred grief pursue, Behind the steps that misery treads

Approaching comfort view;

The hues of bliss more brightly glow,
Chastised by sabler tints of wo;
And blended form, with artful strife,
The strength and harmony of life.

See the wretch, that long has tost
On the thorny bed of Pain,
At length repair his vigour lost.

And breathe and walk again.
The meanest floweret of the vale,
The simplest note that swells the gale,
The common sun, the air, the skies,
To him are opening Paradise."

Our author's reputation, as a poet, was so high, that, on the death of Colley Cibber, in 1757, he had the honour of refusing the office of poet-laureat, to which he was probably induced by the disgrace brought upon it through the inability of

some who had filled it.

His curiosity some time after drew him away from Cambridge to a lodging near the British Museum, where he resided near three years, reading and transcribing.

In 1762, on the death of Mr. Turner, professor of modern languages and history at Cambridge, he was, according to his own expression, "cockered and spirited up" to apply to Lord Bute for the succession. His lordship refused him with all the politeness of a courtier, the office having been previously promised to Mr. Brocket, the tutor of Sir James Lowther.

His health being on the decline, in 1765, he undertook a journey to Scotland, conceiving he should derive benefit from exercise and change of situation. His account of that country, as far as

events.

it extends, is curious and elegant; for as his mind physicians, he removed from London to Kensingwas comprehensive, it was employed in the con- ton; the air of which place proved so salutary, templation of all the works of art, all the appear- that he was soon enabled to return to Cambridge, ances of nature, and all the monuments of past whence he designed to make a visit to his friend, Dr. Wharton, at Old Park, near Durham; inDuring his stay in Scotland he contracted a dulging a fond hope that the excursion would tend friendship with Dr. Beattie, in whom he found, as to the re-establishment of his health: but, alas! he himself expresses it, a poet, a philosopher, and that hope proved delusive. On the 24th of July a good man. Through the intervention of his he was seized, while at dinner in the College-hall, friend the doctor, the Marischal College at Aber- with a sudden nausea, which obliged him to retire deen offered him the degree of doctor of laws, to his chamber. The gout had fixed on his stowhich he thought it decent to decline, having mach in such a degree as to resist all the powers omitted to take it at Cambridge. of medicine. On the 29th he was attacked with

In December, 1767, Dr. Beattie, still desirous a strong convulsion, which returned with increasthat his country should leave a memento of its re-ed violence the ensuing day; and on the evening gard to the merit of our poet, solicited his permis- of the 31st of May, 1771, he departed this life in sion to print, at the University of Glasgow, an the 55th year of his age. elegant edition of his works. Gray could not com- From the narrative of his friend, Mr. Mason, it ply with his friend's request, as he had given his appears, that Gray was actuated by motives of self promise to Mr. Dodsley. However, as a compli- improvement, and self gratification, in his applicament to them both, he presented them with a copy, tion to the Muses, rather than any view to pecucontaining a few notes, and the imitations of the old Norwegian poetry, intended to supplant the Long Story, which was printed at first to illustrate Mr. Bently's designs.

In 1768, our author obtained that office without solicitation, for which he had before applied without effect. The professorship of languages and history again became vacant, and he received an offer of it from the Duke of Grafton, who had succeeded Lord Bute in office. The place was valuable in itself, the salary being 400l. a-year; but it was rendered peculiarly acceptable to Mr. Gray, as he obtained it without solicitation.

Soon after he succeeded to this office, the impaired state of his health rendered another journey necessary; and he visited, in 1769, the counties of Westmoreland and Cumberland. His remarks on the wonderful scenery which these northern regions display, he transmitted in epistolary journals to his friend, Dr. Wharton, which abound, according to Mr. Mason's elegant diction, with all the wildness of Salvator, and the softness of Claude.

He appears to have been much affected by the anxiety he felt at holding a place without discharging the duties annexed to it. He had always designed reading lectures, but never put it in practice; and a consciousness of this neglect, contributed not a little to increase the malady under which he had long laboured: nay, the office at length became so irksome, that he seriously proposed to resign it.

niary emolument. His pursuits were in general disinterested; and as he was free from avarice on the one hand, so was he from extravagance on the other: being one of those few characters in the annals of literature, especially in the poetical class, who are devoid of self interest, and at the same time attentive to economy: but Mr. Mason adds, that he was induced to decline taking any advantage of his literary productions by a degree of pride, which influenced him to disdain the idea of being thought an author by profession.

It appears from the same narrative, that Gray made considerable progress in the study of architecture, particularly the Gothic. He endeavoured to trace this branch of the science, from the period of its commencement, through its various changes, till it arrived at its perfection in the time of Henry VIII. He applied himself also to the study of heraldry, of which he obtained a very competent knowledge, as appears from his Remarks on Sazon Churches, in the introduction to Mr. Bentham's History of Ely.

But the favourite study of Gray, for the last two years of his life, was natural history, which he rather resumed than began, as he had acquired some knowledge of botany in early life, while he was under the tuition of his uncle Antrobus. He wrote copious marginal notes to the works of Linnæus, and other writers in the three kingdoms of nature: and Mr. Mason further observes, that, excepting pure mathematics, and the studies dependent on that science, there was hardly any part of human learning in which he had not acquired a competent skill; in most of them a consummate mastery.

Towards the close of May, 1771, he removed from Cambridge to London, after having suffered violent attacks of an hereditary gout, to which he Mr. Mason has declined drawing any formal had long been subject, notwithstanding he had ob- character of him: but has adopted one from a letserved the most rigid abstemiousness throughout ter to James Boswell, Esq. by the Rev. Mr. Temthe whole course of his life. By the advice of his ple, rector of St. Gluvias, in Cornwall, first print

ed anonymously in the London Magazine, which, | fastidious, and hard to please. His contempt, as we conceive authentic, from the sanction of Mr. however, is often employed, where I hope it will Mason, we shall therefore transcribe.

be approved, upon scepticism and infidelity. His short account of Shaftesbury I will insert.

"Perhaps he was the most learned man in Europe. He was equally acquainted with the elo- "You say you can not conceive how Lord quent and profound parts of science, and that not Shaftesbury came to be a philosopher in vogue: I superficially but thoroughly. He knew every branch will tell you; first, he was a lord; secondly, he was of history, both natural and civil; had read all the as vain as any of his readers; thirdly, men are original historians of England, France and Italy; very prone to believe what they do not understand; and was a great antiquarian. Criticism, metaphy-fourthly, they will believe any thing at all, prosics, morals, and politics, made a principal part of vided they are under no obligation to believe it; his study; voyages and travels of all sorts were fifthly, they love to take a new road, even when his favourite amusements; and he had a fine taste that road leads no where; sixthly, he was reckoned in painting, prints, architecture, and gardening. a fine writer, and seems always to mean more than With such a fund of knowledge, his conversation he said. Would you have any more reasons? An must have been equally instructing and entertain- interval of above forty years has pretty well deing; but he was also a good man, a man of virtue stroyed the charm. A dead lord ranks with comand humanity. There is no character without moners: vanity is no longer interested in the matsome speck, some imperfection, and I think the ter: for a new road is become an old one.'” greatest defect in his was an affectation of delica- As a writer, he had this peculiarity, that he did cy, or rather effeminacy, and a visible fastidious- not write his pieces first rudely, and then correct ness, or contempt and disdain of his inferiors in them, but laboured every line as it arose in the science. He also had, in some degree, that weak- train of composition, and he had a notion not very ness which disgusted Voltaire so much in Mr. peculiar, that he could not write but at certain Congreve: though he seemed to value others chief- times, or at happy moments; a fantastic foppery ly according to the progress they had made in to which our kindness for a man of learning and knowledge, yet he could not bear to be considered of virtue wishes him to have been superior. himself merely as a man of letters; and though As a poet, he stands high in the estimation of without birth, or fortune, or station, his desire was the candid and judicious. His works are not nuto be looked upon as a private independent gen-merous; but they bear the marks of intense applitleman, who read for his amusement. Perhaps it cation, and careful revision. The Elegy in the may be said, What signifies so much knowledge, Church-yard is deemed his master-piece; the subwhen it produced so little? Is it worth taking so much pains to leave no memorial but a few poems? But let it be considered that Mr. Gray was, to others, at least innocently employed; to himself, certainly beneficially. His time passed agreeably; he was every day making some new acquisition in science; his mind was enlarged, his heart softened, his virtue strengthened; the world and mankind were shown to him without a mask; and he was taught to consider every thing as trifling, and unworthy of the attention of a wise man, except the pursuit of knowledge and practice of virtue, in that state wherein God hath placed us."

ject is interesting, the sentiment simple and pathetic, and the versification charmingly melodious. This beautiful composition has been often selected by orators for the display of their rhetorical talents. But as the most finished productions of the human mind have not escaped censure, the works of our author have undergone illiberal comments. His Elegy has been supposed defective in want of plan. Dr. Knox, in his Essays, has observed, "that it is thought by some to be no more than a confused heap of splendid ideas, thrown together without order and without proportion." Some passages have been censured by Kelly in the Babbler: and In addition to this character, Mr. Mason has re- imitations of different authors have been pointed marked, that Gray's effeminacy was affected most out by other critics. But these imitations can not before those whom he did not wish to please: and be ascertained, as there are numberless instances that he is unjustly charged with making knowledge of coincidence of ideas; so that it is difficult to say, his sole reason of preference, as he paid his esteem with precision, what is or is not a designed or acto none whom he did not likewise believe to be cidental imitation. good.

Gray, in his Elegy in the Church-yard, has Dr. Johnson makes the following observation:- great merit in adverting to the most interesting "What has occurred to me, from the slight in- passions of the human mind, yet his genius is not spection of his letters, in which my undertaking marked alone by the tender sensibility so conspihas engaged me, is, that his mind had a large cuous in that elegant piece; but there is a subligrasp; that his curiosity was unlimited, and his mity which gives it an equal claim to universal judgment cultivated; that he was a man likely to admiration. love much where he loved at all, but that he was

His Odes on The Progress of Poetry, and of

The Bard, according to Mr. Mason's account, | mence; and his remarks betray, upon the whole, "breathe the high spirit of lyric enthusiasm. The an unreasonable fastidiousness of taste, and an untransitions are sudden and impetuous; the lan- becoming illiberality of spirit. He appears to have guage full of fire and force; and the imagery car-turned an unwilling eye upon the beauties of Gray, ried without impropriety, to the most daring height. because his jealousy would not suffer him to see They have been accused of obscurity; but the one such superlative merit in a cotemporary." These can be obscure to those only who have not read remarks of Mr. Wakefield appear to be well Pindar; and the other only to those who are unfounded: and it has been observed by another acquainted with the history of our own nation."

Of his other lyric pieces, Mr. Wakefield, a learned and ingenious commentator, observes, that, though, like all other human productions, they are not without their defects, yet the spirit of poetry, and exquisite charms of the verse, are more than a compensation for those defects. The Ode on Eton College abounds with sentiments natural, and consonant to the feelings of humanity, exhibited with perspicuity of method, and in elegant, intelligible, and expressive language. The Sonnet on The Death of West, and the Epitaph on Sir William Williams, are as perfect compositions of the kind as any in our language.

Dr. Johnson was confessedly a man of great genius; but the partial and uncandid mode of criticism he has adopted in his remarks on the writings of Gray, has given to liberal minds great and just offence. According to Mr. Mason's account, he has subjected Gray's poetry to the most rigorous examination. Declining all consideration of the general plan and conduct of the pieces, he has confined himself solely to strictures on words and forms of expression; and Mr. Mason very pertinently adds, that verbal criticism is an ordeal which the most perfect composition can not pass without injury.

writer, that Dr. Johnson, being strongly influenced by his political and religious principles, was inclined to treat, with the utmost severity, some of the productions of our best writers; to which may be imputed that severity with which he censures the lyric performances of Gray. It is highly probable that no one poetical reader will universally subscribe to his decisions, though all may admire his vast intuitive knowledge, and power of discrimination.

deviation from his general character, does him hoIn one instance, the doctor's inconsistency, and nour. After having commented with the most riconscious of the injustice done him, he seems to gid severity on the poetical works of Gray, as if cludes his criticism, and shall conclude the memoirs apologize by the following declaration, which con

of our author.

"In the character of his Elegy (says Johnson) I rejoice and concur with the common reader; for, by the common sense of readers, uncorrupted with literary prejudices, all the refinements of subtility, and the dogmatism of learning, must be finally decided all claim to poetical honours. The Churchyard abounds with images which find a mirror in every mind, and with sentiments to which every He has also fallen under Mr. Wakefield's se- bosom returns an echo. The four stanzas beginverest censure. This commentator affirms, that ning, Yet, e'en these bones, are to me original; I "he thinks a refutation of his strictures upon Gray have never seen the notions in any other place: a necessary service to the public, without which yet he that reads them here, persuades himself that they might operate with a malignant influence he has always felt them. Had Gray written often upon the national taste. His censure, however, thus, it had been vain to blame, and useless to is too general, and expressed with too much vehe- praise him."

LETTERS

OF

THOMAS GRAY.

FROM MR. WEST TO MR. GRAY. You use me very cruelly; you have sent me but one letter since I have been at Oxford, and that too agreeable not to make me sensible how great my loss is in not having more. Next to seeing you is the pleasure of seeing your hand-writing; next to hearing you is the pleasure of hearing from you. Really and sincerely I wonder at you, that you thought it not worth while to answer my last letter. I hope this will have better success in be half of your quondam school-fellow; in behalf of one who has walked hand in hand with you, like the two children in the wood,

Through many a flowery path and shelly grot, Where learning lulled us in her private maze. The very thought, you see, tips my pen with poetry, and brings Eton to my view. Consider me very seriously here in a strange country, inhabited by things that call themselves doctors and masters of arts; a country flowing with syllogisms and ale, where Horace and Virgil are equally unknown; consider me, I say, in this melancholy light, and then think if something be not due to

Christ Church, Nov. 14, 1735.

Yours.

P. S. I desire you will send me soon, and truly and positively, a History of your own Time.t

TO MR. WEST.

PERMIT me again to write to you, though I have so long neglected my duty, and forgive my brevity, when I tell you, it is occasioned wholly by the hurry I am in to get to a place where I expect to meet with no other pleasure than the sight of you; for I am preparing for London in a few days at furthest. I do not wonder in the least at your frequent blaming my indolence, it ought rather to

Mr. West's father was lord chancellor of Ireland. His grandfather, by the mother, the famous bishop Burnet. He removed from Eton to Oxford, about the same time that Mr. Gray left that place for Cambridge. In April, 1738, he left Christ Church for the Inner Temple, and Mr. Gray removed from Peterhouse to town the latter end of that year; intending also to apply himself to the study of the law in the same society,

↑ Alluding to his grandfather's history.

be called ingratitude, and I am obliged to your goodness for softening so harsh an appellation.When we meet, it will, however, be my greatest of pleasures to know what you do, what you read, and how you spend your time, &c. &c. and to tell you what I do not read, and how I do not, &c. for almost all the employment of my hours may be best explained by negatives; take my word and experience upon it, doing nothing is a most amusing business; and yet neither something nor nothing gives me any pleasure. When you have seen one of my days, you have seen a whole year of my life; they go round and round like the blind horse in the mill, only he has the satisfaction of fancying he makes a progress, and gets some ground; my eyes are open enough to see the same dull prospect, and to know that having made fourand-twenty steps more, I shall be just where I was: I may, better than most people, say my life is but a span, were I not afraid lest you should not believe that a person so short-lived could write even so long a letter as this; in short, I believe I must not send you a history of my own time, till I can send you that also of the Reformation.* However, as the most undeserving people in the world must surely have the vanity to wish somebody had a regard for them, so I need not wonder at my own, in being pleased that you care about me. You need not doubt, therefore, of having a first row in the front box of my little heart, and I believe you are not in danger of being crowded there; it is asking you to an old play, indeed, but you will be candid enough to excuse the whole piece for the sake of

I

a few tolerable lines.

For this little while past I have been playing together; you will easily forgive me for having with Statius; we yesterday had a game at quoits send you my translation, which I did not engage broke his head, as you have a little pique to him. in because I liked that part of the poem, nor do I now send it to you because I think it deserves it, but merely to show you how I mispend my days. Third in the labours of the Disc came on, With sturdy step and slow, Hippomedon, &c. Cambridge, May 3, 1736.

⚫ Carrying on the allusion to the other history wrote by Mr. West's grandfather.

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