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The gaudy train, who wait on Spring [1],

Ting'd with the pomp of vernal pride, The youth who mount on Pleasure's wing [2],

And idly sport on Thames's side, With cool regard their various arts employ, Nor rouse the drooping mind, nor give the pause

of joy.

Ha! what forms, with port sublime [3],

Glide along in sullen mood,
Scorning all the threats of Time,

High above Misfortune's flood ?

They seize their harps, they strike the lyre,
With rapid hand, with Freedom's fire.
Obedient Nature hears the lofty sound,
And Snowdon's airy cliffs the heavenly strains re-


(1) Ode on Spring.

[2] Ode on the Prospect of Eton College,

[3] The Bard, an Ode.

In pomp of state, behold they wait,

With arms outstretch'd, and aspects kind, To snatch on high to yonder sky,

The child of fancy left behind : Forgot the woes of Cambria’s fatal day, By rapture's blaze impellid, they swell the artless


But ah! in vain they strive to sooth,

With gentle arts, the tort'ring hours;
Adversity [4], with rankling tooth,

Her baleful gifts profusely pours.

Behold she comes, the fiend forlorn,

Array'd in Horror's settled gloom;
She strews the briar'and prickly thorn,

And triumphs in th' infernal doom.
With frantic fury and insatiate rage,
She gnau's the throbbing breast and blasts the

glowing page.

[4] Hymn to Adversity.

No more the soft Æolian flute [5]

Breathes thro' the heart the melting strain;
The powers of Harmony are mute,

And leave the once-delightful plain;
With heavy wing, I see them beat the air,
Damp'd by the leaden hand of comfortless Despair.

Yet stay, O! stay, celestial pow'rs,

And with a hand of kind regard,
Dispel the boist'rous storm that lours

Destructive on the fav’rite bard;
O watch with me his last expiring breath,
And snatch him from the arms of dark, oblivious


Hark the Fatal Sisters [6] join,

And with Horror's mutt'ring sounds,
Weave the tissue of his line,

While the dreadful spell resounds.

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Hail, ye midnight sisters, hail,

66 Drive the shuttle swift along; " Let your secret charms prevail

66 O'er the valiant and the strong,

“ O'er the glory of the land,
6 O'er the innocent and

66 O'er the Muse's tuneful band-

66 Weave the fun’ral web of Gray.

'Tis done, 'tis done-the iron hand of pain,

With ruthless fury and corrosive force, Racks every joint, and seizes every vein:

He sinks, he groans, he falls a lifeless corse.

Thus fades the flow'r nipp'd by the frozen gale,

Tho' once so sweet, so lovely to the eye: Thus the tall oaks, when boist'rous storms as

sail, Torn from the earth, a mighty ruin lie.

Ye sacred sisters of the plaintive verse,

Now let the stream of fond affection flow; O pay your tribute o'er the slow-drawn hearse,

With all the manly dignity of woe..

Oft when the Curfew tolls its parting knell,
With solemn pause yon Church-yard's gloom

While Sorrow's sighs, and tears of Pity tell,

How just the moral of the Poet's lay [7].

O'er his green grave, in Contemplation's guise,

Oft let the pilgrim drop a silent tear : Oft let the shepherd's tender accents rise,

Big with the sweets of each revolving year ; Till prostrate Time adore his deathless name,

Fix'd on the solid base of adamantine fame.

[7] Elegy in a Country Church-Yard.


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