Thou guide, by which the noble arts excel;
Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well!
Farewell! and, oh! where'er thy voice be tried,
On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarea's side,
Whether where equinoctial fervors glow,
Or Winter wraps the polar world in snow,
Still let thy voice, prevailing over time,
Redress the rigors of the inclement clime;
Aid slighted Truth with thy persuasive strain;
Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain;
Teach him that states of native strength possessed,
Though very poor, may still be very blessed;
That Trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay,
As Ocean sweeps the labored mole away;
While self-dependent power can Time defy,
As rocks resist the billows and the sky.

THOMAS GRAY.

1716-1771.

Distinguished as poet and scholar. "Ode to Spring," "The Bard," "The Progress of Poesy," and " Elegy written in a Country Churchyard." His letters are noted for their clear, elegant, and picturesque style.

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,
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
Of such as, wandering near her secret bower,
Molest her ancient, solitary reign.

*The reasons of that universal approbation with which this Elegy has been received may be learned from the comprehensive encomium of Dr. Johnson: "It abounds with images which find a mirror in every soul, and with sentiments to which every bosom returns an echo."

"Had Gray written nothing but his Elegy, high as he stands, I am not sure that he would not stand higher: it is the corner-stone of his glory."- Lord Byron.

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a moldering heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever said,

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.

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;

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke: How jocund did they drive their team afield!

How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,

Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;
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,
Await alike the inevitable hour:

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.

Can storied urn or animated bust

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust?

Or Flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death?

Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire;
Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed,
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre :

But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page,
Rich with the spoils of Time, did ne'er unroll;

Chill Penury repressed their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul.

Full many a gem of purest ray serene

The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear; Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 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.

The 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,

Their lot forbade: nor circumscribed alone
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined;
Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind,

The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide,
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,
Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride
With incense kindled at the Muse's flame.

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife,
Their sober wishes never learned to stray:
Along the cool, sequestered vale of life

They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.

Yet e'en these bones from insult to protect,
Some frail memorial still erected nigh,

With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked,
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.

Their name, their years, spelt by the unlettered Muse,
The place of fame and elegy supply;

And many a holy text around she strews,
That teach the rustic moralist to die.

For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,

This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind? On some fond breast the parting soul relies; Some pious drops the closing eye requires: E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries; E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.

For thee, who, mindful of the unhonored dead,
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate,

If chance, by lonely contemplation led,

Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate,

Haply some hoary-headed swain may say,

66

Óft have we seen him at the peep of dawn
Brushing with hasty steps the dews away
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.

"There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech,
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high,
His listless length at noontide would he stretch,
And pore upon the brook that babbles by.

"Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn,

Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove;
Now drooping, woful wan, like one forlorn,

Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love.

"One morn I missed him on the customed hill,
Along the heath, and near his favorite tree:
Another came; nor yet beside the rill,

Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood, was he:

"The next, with dirges due in sad array,

Slow through the churchway-path we saw him borne:
Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay
Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.”

THE EPITAPH.

Here rests his head upon the lap of earth
A youth to fortune and to fame unknown :
Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth;
And Melancholy marked him for her own.

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere;
Heaven did a recompense as largely send:

He gave to misery (all he had) a tear;

He gained from Heaven ('twas all he wished) a friend.

No farther seek his merits to disclose,

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose,) The bosom of his Father and his God.

OTHER DISTINGUISHED WRITERS OF POETRY AND PROSE.

WILLIAM SHENSTONE.-1714-1763. "Schoolmistress" and "Pastoral Ballad." WILLIAM COLLINS.-1721-1759. "Oriental Eclogues," "The Passions," odes to "Liberty" and "Evening," and other fine lyrics.

MARK AKENSIDE. -1721-1770. "Pleasures of Imagination."

THOMAS WARTON.- 1728-1790.

66

poems; History of English Poetry."

JOSEPH WARTON.-1722-1800.

"The Pleasures of Melancholy," and other

Brother of Thomas, and an inferior poet.

JOHN HORNE. - -1722-1808. Dramatist. "Douglas," and other pieces.

WILLIAM MASON.-1725-1797. "The English Garden," and "Life and Letters of Gray."

THOMAS PERCY.-1728-1811. Collected "Reliques of English Poetry."
ERASMUS DARWIN.-1731-1802. "The Botanic Garden," a poem.

WILLIAM FALCONER.-1732-1769. "The Shipwreck;" and was himself shipwrecked on "The Aurora." "The Minstrel," and other poems.

- 1735-1803.

JAMES BEATTIE.
JAMES MACPHERSON.
CHARLES CHURCHILL.
of Famine," and other works.

Fingal," ""Temora," and political essays. "The Rosciad," "Night," "The Prophecy

66
-1738-1796.
- -1731-1764.

JOHN WESLEY.-1703-1791. The most eminent of the founders of Methodism. "Journal" and "Hymns."

THOMAS REID.-1710-1796. Metaphysician. "Inquiry into the Human Mind," and “Essays on the Intellectual and Active Powers of Man."

LAURENCE STERNE.

1713-1768. "Tristram Shandy" and "The Sentimental Journey." Uncle Toby, Widow Wadman, Corporal Trim, and Dr. Slop, are imperishable characters.

DAVID GARRICK.

1716-1779. The famous actor. "The Lying Valet," "The

Miss in her Teens," and other plays.
HORACE WALPOLE. — 1717-1791.

Memoirs" of the time.

HUGH BLAIR.-1718-1800. tures."

GILBERT WHITE.-1720-1793.

taining book.

"Castle of Otranto," and lively "Letters and

Sermons,"
" and well-known "Rhetorical Lec-

"The Natural History of Selborne;" an enter

1721-1777. Celebrated actor. "The Minor," "The Mayor

SAMUEL FOOTE. of Garratt," and many others.

Sir WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. land."

ADAM SMITH.-1723-1790. Moral Sentiments."

ADAM FERGUSON. the Roman Republic."

1724-1816.

JAMES BOSWELL. - 1740-1795. WILLIAM PALEY.-1743-1805. ology," and other religious works.