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Big with hosts of mighty name,

Every warrior's manly neck Squadrons three against him came;

Chains of regal honour deck, This the force of Eirin hiding;

Wreathed in many a golden link: Side by side as proudly riding;

From the golden cup they drink On her shadow long and gay

Nectar that the bees produce, Lochlin* ploughs the watery way;

Or the grape's ecstatic juice. There the Norman sails afar,

Flushed with mirth and hope they burn, Catch the winds and join the war;

But none from Cattraeth’s vale return, Black and huge along they sweep,

Save Aëron brave, and Conan strong, Burthens of the angry deep.

(Bursting through the bloody throng.) Dauntless on his native sands

And I, the meanest of them all,
The dragon sont of Mona stands;

That live to weep and sing their fall.
In glitterring arms and glory drest,
High he rears his ruby crest :
There the thundering strokes begin,

There the press and there the din,
Talymalfra's rocky shore

[FOR MUSIC.) Echoing in the battle's roar.

Performed in the Senate-house, Cambridge, Jaly 1, 1769, at Checked by the torrent-tide of blood,

the installation of his Grace Augustus-Henry-Fitzroy, Duke Backward Meinai rolls his food,

of Grafton, Chancellor of the University. While, heaped his master's feet around, Prostrate warriors gnaw the ground.

I. Where his glowing eyeballs turn,

"Hence, avaunt! ('tis holy ground,) Thousand banners round him burn;

Comus and his midnight crew, Where he points his purple spear.

And ignorance with looks profound, Hasty, hasty rout is there;

And dreaming sloth of pallid hue, Marking, with indignant eye,

Mad sedition's cry profane, Fear to stop and shame to fly:

Servitude that hugs her chain, There confusion, terror's child,

Nor in these consecrated bowers, Conflict fierce and ruin wild,

Let painted flattery hide her serpent-train in Agony, that pants for breath,

flowers, Despair and honourable death.

Nor envy base, nor creeping gain,
Dare the muse's walk to stain,
While bright-eyed science watches round:

Hence away! 'tis holy ground.”


From yonder realms of empyrean day
From the Welsh or Aneurim, styled The Monarch of the Bards. Bursts on my ear th' indignant lay;

There sit the sainted sage, the bard divine,
He flourished about the time of Taliessin, A. D.570. The few whom genius gave to shine
This Ode is extracted from the Gododin.

Through every unborn age and undiscovered clime. [See Mr. Evan's specimens, pp. 71, 73.] Rapt in celestial transport they, Had I but the torrent's might,

Yet hither oft a glance from high

They send of tender sympathy
With headlong rage, and wild affright,
Upon Deïra's squadrons hurled,

To bless the place where on their opening soul

First the genuine ardour stole. To rush and sweep them from the world!

'Twas Milton struck the deep-toned shell Too, too secure in youthful pride,

And, as the choral warblings round him swell, By them my friend, my Hoel, died,

Meek Newton's self bends from his state sublime, Great Cian's son; of Madoc old,

And nods bis hoary head, and listens to the rhyme.
He asked no heaps of hoarded gold;
Alone in nature's wealth arrayed,

He asked and had the lovely maid.
To Cattraeth's vale, in glittering row,

“ Ye brown o'er-arching groves ! Twice two hundred warriors go;

That contemplation loves,
Where widowy Camus lingers with delight,

Oft at the blush of dawn * The red Dragon is the device of Cadwallader, which all

I trod your level lawn, bis descendants bore on their banners.

Oft wooed the gleam of Cynthia silver-bright


• Denmark.

In cloisters dim, far from the haunts of folly, What the bright reward we gain? With freedom by my side and soft-eyed melan- The grateful memory of the good. choly."

Sweet is the breath of vernal shower,

The bee's collected treasures sweet,

Sweet music's melting fall, but sweeter yet
But hark! the portals sound, in pacing forth, The still small voice of gratitude."

With solemn steps and slow,
High potentates, and dames of royal birth,

And mitred fathers, in long order go:

Foremost, and leaning from her golden cloud, Great Edward, with the lilies on his brow*

The venerable Margaret* see! From haughty Gallia torn,

“Welcome, my noble son!” she cries aloud, And sad Chatillon,t on her bridal morn,

“ To this thy kindred train and me: That wept her bleeding love, and princely Clare,+ Pleased in thy lineaments we trace And Anjou's heroine,s and the paler rose, ll A Tudor'st fire, a Beaufort's grace: The rival of her crown, and of her woes, Thy liberal heart, thy judging eye, And either Henry there,

The flower unheeded shall descry, The murdered saint, and the majestic lord, And bid it round heaven's altars shed That broke the bonds of Rome.

The fragrance of its blushing head; (Their tears, their little triumphs o'er,

Shall raise from earth the latent gem
Their human passions now no more,

To glitter on the diadem.
Save charity, that glows beyond the tomb)
All that on Granta's fruitful plain

Rich streams of regal bounty poured,

“ Lo! Granta waits to lead her blooming band; And bade those awful fanes and turrets rise Not obvious, not obtrusive, she To hail their Fitzroy's festal morning come; No vulgar praise, no venal incense fings, And thus they speak in soft accord

Nor dares with courtly tongue refined The liquid language of the skies:

Profane thy inborn royalty of mind:

She reveres herself and thee.

With modest pride to grace thy youthful brow " What is grandeur, what is power?

The laureat wreatht that Cecil wore she brings, Heavier toil, superior pain,

And to thy just, thy gentle hand

Submits the fasces of her sway; • Edward III. who added the Fleur de lys of France to the While spirits blest above, and men below, arms of England. He founded Trinity College.

+ Mary de Valentia, Countess of Pembroke, daughter of Guy Join with glad voice the loud symphonious lay. de Chatillon, Comte de St. Paul in France, of whom tradition

VIII. says that her husband, Audemarde de Valentia, earl of Pembroke, was slain at a tournament on the day of his nuptials

. “ Through the wild waves, as they roar, She was the foundress of Pembroke College, or Hall, under the

With watchful eye, and dauntless mien, name of Aula Maria de Valentia.

1 Elizabeth de Burg, countess of Clare, was wife of Jolın de Thy steady course of honour keep, Burg, son and heir of the earl of Ulster, and daughter of Gil-Nor fear the rock nor seek the shore: bert de Clare, earl of Gloucester, by Joan of Acres, daughter. The star of Brunswick smiles serene, of Edward I. hence the poet gives her the epithet of princely. And gilds the horrors of the deep.” She founded Clare-bill.

$ Margaret of Anjou, wise of Henry VI foundress of Queen's College. The poet has celebrated her conjugal fidelity in a • Countess of Richmond and Derby, the mother of Henry former ode.

VII. soundress of St. John's and Christ's Colleges, | Elizabeth Widville, wise of Edward IV. (hence called the | The Countess was a Beaufort, and married to a Tudor; paler Rose, as being of the house of York.) She added to the hence the application of this line to the duke of Grafton, who foundation of Margaret of Anjou.

claims descent from both these families. 1 Henry VI. and VIII. the former the founder of King's, the Lord treasurer Burleigh was chancellor of the University latter the greatest banefactor to Trinity College.

l in the reign of queen Elizabeth.

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The first came cap-à-pèe from France,

Her conquering destiny fulfilling,
Whom meaner beauties eye askance,

And vainly ape her art of killing.
Mr. Gray's Elegy, previous to its publication, was handed
about in MS, and had, amongst other admirers, the lady Cob. The other Amazon kind Heaven
ham, who resided in the mansion-house at Stoke-Pogeis. The Had armed with, spirit, wit, and satire;
performance inducing her to wish for the author's acquaint. But Cobham had the polish given,
ance, lady Schaub and Miss Speed, then at her house, under.

And tipped her arrows with good-nature. look to introduce her to it. These two ladies waited upon the author at his aunt's sclitary habitation, where he at that time To celebrate her eyes, her airresided, and not finding him at home, they left a card behind them. Mr. Gray, surprised at such a compliment, returned

Coarse panegyrics would but tease her; the visit; and as the beginning of this intercourse bore some Melissa is her nom de

guerre; appearance of romance, he gave the humorous and lively Alas! who would not wish to please her! account of it which the Long Story contains.

With bonnet blue and capuchine, In Britain's isle, no matter where,

And aprons long, they hid their armour, An ancient pile of building stands;*

And veiled their weapons bright and keen The Huntingdons and Hattons there

In pity to the country farmer. Employed the power of fairy hands.

Fame in the shape of Mr. P-t,* To raise the ceilings fretted height,

(By this time all the parish know it) Each pannel in achievements clothing, Had told that thereabouts there lurked Rich windows that exclude the light,

A wicked imp they called a poet. And passages that lead to nothing.

Who prowled the country far and near, Full oft within the spacious walls,

Bewitched the children of the peasants, When he had fifty winters o'er him,

Dried up the cows and lamed the deer, My grave lord-keepert led the brawls:

And sucked the eggs and killed the pheasants. The seal and maces danced before him. His bushy beard and shoe-strings green,

My lady heard their joint petition,

Swore by her coronet and ermine,
His high-crowned hat and satin doublet,
Moved the stout heart of England's queen,

She'd issue out her high commission

To rid the manor of such vermin.
Though pope and Spaniard could not trouble it.

The heroines undertook the task;
What, in the very first beginning,
Shame of the versifying tribe!

Through lanes unknown, o'er stiles they venYour history whither are you spinning?


Rapped at the door, nor stayed to ask,
Can you do nothing but describe?

But bounce into the parlour entered.
A house there is (and that's enough)
From whence one fatal morning issues

The trembling family they daunt,
A brace of warriors,t not in buff,

They flirt, they sing, they laugh, they tattle. But rustling in their silks and tissues.

Rummage his mother, pinch his aunt,

And up stairs in a whirlwind rattle. • The mansion-house at Stoke-Pogeis, then in possession of Each hole and cupboard they explore, viscountess Cobham. The style of building which we now

Each creek and cranny of his chamber, call queen Elizabeth's, is here admirably described, both with regard to its beauties and defects; and the third and fourth stanzas delineate the fantastic manners of her time with equal truth and humour. The house formerly belonged to two descriptions are prettily contrasted; and nothing can be the earls of Huntingdon and the family of Ilation.

more happily turned than the compliment to lady Cobham in Sir Christopher Hatton, promoted by Queen Elizabeth for the eighth stanza. his graceful person and fine dancing. Brawls were a sort of •I have been told that this gentleman, a neighbour and aca figure-dance then in vogue, and probably deemed as elegant qaintance of Mr. Gray's in the country, was much displeased as our modern cotillions, or still more modern quadrilles. at the liberty here taken with his name, yet surely without

* The reader is already apprised who these ladies were; the l any great reason.

Run hurry scurry round the floor,

And o'er the bed and tester clamber; Into the drawers and china pry,

Papers and books, a huge imbroglio! Under a tea-cup he might lie,

Or creased like dog's ears in a folio. On the first marching of the troops,

The muses, hopeless of his pardon, Conveyed him underneath their hoops

To a small closet in the garden, So rumour says, (who will believe ?)

But that they left the door a-jar, Where safe, and laughing in his sleeve

He heard the distant din of war.

Short was his joy; he little knew

The power of magic was no fable; Out of the window wisk they few,

But left a spell upon the table. The words too eager to unriddle,

The poet felt a strange disorder; Transparent birdline formed the middle,

And chains invisible the border.

The bard with many an artful fib

Had in imagination fenced him, Disproved the arguments of Squib, *

And all that Groomt could urge against him. But soon his rhetoric forsook him

When he the solemn hall had seen; A sudden fit of ague shook him;

He stood as mute as poor Macleane. I Yet something he was heard to mutter,

“How in the park, bencath an old tree, (Without design to hurt the butter,

Or any malice to the poultry,)
He once or twice had penned a sonnet,

Yet hoped that he might save his bacon:
Numbers would give their oaths upon it,

He ne'er was for a conjuror taken.” The ghostly prudes, with haggeds face,

Already had condemned the sinner: My lady rose, and with a grace

She smiled, and bid him come to dinner.li “ Jesu-Maria! Madam Bridget,

Why, what can the viscountess mean!" Cried the square hoods, in woful fidget;

“The times are altered quite and clean! “ Decorum's turned to mere civility!

Her air and all her manners show it:
Commend me to her affability!
Speak to a commoner and poet!"

[Here 500 stanzas are lost.] And so God save our noble king,

And guard us from long-winded lubbers, That to eternity would sing,

And keep my lady from her rubbers.

So cunning was the apparatus,

The powerful pothooks did so more him, That will he nill to the great house

He went as if the devil drove him.


Yet on his way (no sign of grace,

For folks in fear are apt to pray) To Phæbus he preferred his case,

And begged his aid that dreadful day. The godhead would have backed his quarrel:

But with a blush, on recollection, Owned that his quiver and his laurel

'Gainst four such eyes were no protection. The court was sat, the culprit there:

Forth from their gloomy mansions creeping, The lady Janes and Jones repair,

And from the gallery stand peeping; Such as in silence of the night

Come (sweep) along some winding entry, (Styack* has often seen the sight)

Or at the chapel-door stand sentry;
In peaked hoods and mantle tarnished,

Sour visages enough to scare ye,
High dames of honour once that garnished

The drawing-room of fierce queen Mary! The peeress comes: the audience stare,

And doff their hats with due submission; She courtesies, as she takes her chair, To all the people of condition. • The house-keeper.

WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD. The curfew tollss the knell of parting day,

The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,

And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

• The steward.

Groom of the chamber. 1 A famous highwayman, hanged the week before.

$ Hagged, i. e. the face of a witch or hag. The epithet hag. gard has been sometimes mistaken as conveying the same idea, but means a very different thing, viz. wild and farouche, and is taken from an unreclaimed hawk called a haggard.

1 Here the story finishes; the exclamation of the ghosts, which follows, is characteristic of the Spanish manners of the age when they are supposed to have lived; and the 500 stan.

zas said to be lost, may be imagined to contain the remainder of their long.winded expostulation.

_squila di lontano
Che paia'l giorno pianger, che si muore,

Dante, Purgat. L &


Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, | Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast And all the air a solemn stillness holds,

The little tyrant of his fields withstood, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, Some mute inglorious Milton, here may rest,

And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds; Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower The applause of listening senates to command,

The moping owl does to the moon complain The threats of pain and ruin to despise, Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, Molest her ancient solitary reign.

And read their history in a nation's eyes, Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Their lot forbade; nor circumscribed alone

Where heaves the turfin many amouldering heap, Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined; Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,

Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. And shut the gates of mercy on mankind; The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide,

The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride

No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. With incense kindled at the muse's flame. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, * Or busy housewife ply her evening care;

Their sober wishes never learned to stray; No children run to lisp their sire's return, Along the cool sequestered vale of life

Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. They kept the noiseless tenour of their way. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield,

Yet e'en these bones, from insult to protect Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; Some frail memorial still erected nigh, How jocund did they drive their team afield ! With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke. decked

Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. Let not ambition mock their useful toil,

Their homely joys, and destiny obscure: Their name,their years,spelt by the unlettered muze, Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The place of fame and elegy supply, The short and simple annals of the poor. And many a holy text around she strews,

That teach the rustic moralist to die, The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,

And all that beauty, all that wealth, e'er gave, For who to dumb forgetfulness a prey Await alike the inevitable hour:

This pleasing anxious being e'er resigned, The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,

Nor cast one longing lingering look behind ? Nor you, ye proud ! impute to these the fault,

If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, On some fond breast the parting soul relies, Where thro' the long drawn aisle and fretted vault, Some pious drops the closing eye requires; The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries,

E'en in our ashest live their wonted fires. Can storied urn or animated bust

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? For thee, who, mindful of the unhonoured dead, Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate, Or flattery sooth the dull cold ear of death ? If chance, by lonely contemplation led,

Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed, “Oft have we seen him, at the peep of dawn, Or waked to ecstacy the living lyre.

Brushing with hasty steps the dews away,

To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.
But knowledge to their eyes her ample page,
Rich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll;

• This part of the elegy differs from the first copy, The Chill penury repressed their noble rage,

following stanza wis excluded with the other alterations: And froze the genial current of the soul.

Ilark! how the sacred calm, that breathes around,

Bids every fierce tumultuous passion cease, Full many a gem of purest ray serene

In still small accents whispering from the ground, The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear;

A grateful earnest of eternal peace. Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,

1 Ch'i veggio nel pensier, dolce mio fuoco, And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

Fredda una lingua, et due begli occhi chiufi
Rimaner droppo noi pien difaville.--Petrarch, Sou. 169

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