FEW

GRAY.

Ew poets have written less, or obtained a higher de gree of deserved celebrity than Gray. "The British Findar," as he has been called, was the son of a respect-. able citizen, and was born in Cornhill, Dec. 26, 1716. At Eton school he received his classical education, and afterwards removed to St. Peter's college, Cambridge, of which university he became one of the brightest orna

ments.

The "Ode to Spring" was his first avowed poetical composition; and this was followed by the "Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College," and " Hymn to Adversity," which all appeared by the time he was twentyfour years of age.

Intending to follow the profession of the law, Gray entered himself of the Inner Temple; but receiving an invitation from his university friend, Mr. Horace Walpole, afterwards Earl of Orford, to accompany him on his travels, he relinquished the study of the law, and set out on his grand tour. An unfortunate disagreement, however, between the two travellers speedily arising, our poet returned to London, and shortly after his father dying, his patrimony was found too small to allow him to think of resuming his design of being called to the bar. Returning therefore to Cambridge, he took a degree, and made that university his residence for the remainder of his life, except during occasional visits to London, and excursions to different parts of the kingdom. The im mortal" Elegy written in a Country Church-yard," was published in 1750, and this completely established his reputation. "The Bard," and "The Progress of Poesy," appeared seven years after; and about the same time, he was offered, but refused, the office of poet-laureat.

Gray seems to have been remarkably disinterested, and though his fortune was small, his spirit of independ ance would not allow him to sink the conscious dignity of genius by the meanness of solicitation. In 1768 he

obtained, however, without any application on his own part, the professorship of Modern History in his Alma Mater, an appointment worth 4001. a year, and fully adequate to his moderate and frugal habits. But he did not long enjoy his good fortune. His health began to break, his spirits to flag, and the gout put a period to his existence.

His poems and letters, with memoirs of his life and writings, were published some years after by his friend and executor, Mr. Mason. From the narrative of this gentleman, who possessed kindred genius, it may be collected, that Gray was more anxious to improve and amuse himself, than to court profit or fame by the application of his great power to any practical purpose. He was well bred, charitable, and humane, and passed his learned leisure among books rather than men. Yet he was warmly attached to his friends, and by them reciprocally beloved.

The poems of Gray are the universal favourites of all ages and conditions, in particular, his Elegy is repeated by youth and age, by the learned and unlearned, by the wise and the simple. It possesses a fascination which cannot be resisted; the sentiments it expresses are reechoed from every heart.

Mr. Gray died July 31, 1771, in the 55th year of his age. A few months after this lamented event, Mr. Mason began the third book of the " English Garden,” and was literally building a rustic alcove in his own garden sacred to his friend. The following lines allude to this circumstance:

"In this fav'rite haunt

I place the urn, the bust, the sculptur'd lyre,
And fix this votive tablet, fair inscrib'd

With numbers worthy thee-for they are thine !"

Under the urn, on a tablet, was this stanza, taken from the first edition of the Elegy written in a Country Church-yard:

« Here scatter'd oft, the loveliest of the year,
By hands unseen, are showers of violets found,
The redbreast loves to build and warble here,
And little footsteps lightly print the ground.."

ODE ON THE SPRING.

Lo! where the rosy-bosom'd hours,
Fair Venus' train appear,

Disclose the long expected flowers,
And wake the purple year!

The Attic warbler pours her throat,
Responsive to the cuckoo's note,
The untaught harmony of spring:
While, whispering pleasure as they fly,
Cool zephyrs through the clear blue sky
Their gather'd fragrance fling.

Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch
A broader browner shade;

Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech O'er-canopies the glade,

Beside some water's rushy brink

With me the muse shall sit and think,

At ease reclin'd in rustic state,
How vain the ardour of the crowd,
How low, how little are the proud,
How indigent the great!

Still is the toiling hand of care;
The panting herds repose:

Yet hark, how through the peopled air

The busy murmur grows!

The insect youth are on the wing,
Eager to taste the honied spring,
And float amid the liquid noon :
Some lightly o'er the current skim,
Some shew their gaily-gilded trim
Quick glancing to the sun.

To contemplation's sober eye,
Such is the race of man:

And they that creep, and they that fly,

Shall end where they began.

Alike the busy and the gay,

But flutter through life's little day,

In fortune's varying colours drest :
Brush'd by the hand of rough mischance,
Or chill'd by age, their airy dance
They leave, in dust to rest.

Methinks I hear in accents low
The sportive kind reply;

Poor moralist! and what art thou?
A solitary fly!

Thy joys no glittering female meets,
No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets,
No painted plumage to display:
On hasty wings thy youth is flown:
Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone-
We, frolic while 'tis May.

ODE

ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE CAT.

Drowned in a Tub of Gold Fishes.

'Twas on a lofty vase's side,

WAS

Where China's gayest art had dy'd

The azure flowers that blow;
Demurest of the tabby kind,
The pensive Selima reclin❜d,
Gaz'd on the lake below.

Her conscious tail her joy declar'd;
The fair round face, the snowy beard,
The velvet of her paws,

Her coat, that with the tortoise vies,
Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes,
She saw; and purr'd applause.

Still had she gaz'd; but 'midst the tide,
Two angel forms were seen to glide,
The genii of the stream:
Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue,
Through richest purple to the view,
Betray'd a golden gleam.