"Thou saw'st her beaming from the hamlet-sires "Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's "shade; "Where now, still faithful to their wonted fires [68], "Thy own dear ashes are for ever laid." [68] Gray was buried at Stoke, the scene of the Elegy. STANZAS ON THE DEATH OF MR. GRAY. BY A LADY. WHERE sleeps the Bard who grac'd Museus' hearse No; with the Nine inwrapp'd in social woe, Their early pupil in the heav'nly lore They taught the youth on eagle wing to soar, Fancy obedient to their dread command, With brillant Genius, marshall'd forth his way; They lur'd his steps to Cambria's once-fam'd land, And sleeping Druids felt his magic lay. But vain the magic lay., the warbling lyre, Imperious Death! from thy fell grasp to save; He knew, and told it with a Poet's fire, "The paths of Glory lead but to the grave." And shall the Bard, whose sympathizing mind Yes, honour'd shade! the fringed brook I'll trace, Green rushes culling thy dank grave to strew; With mountain flow'rs I'll deck the hallow'd place, And fence it round with osiers mix'd with yew. R 2 THE TEARS OF GENIUS: AN ODE. BY MR. TAITE. ON Cam's fair banks, where Learning's hallow'd fane Majestic rises on the astonish'd sight, Where oft the Muse has led the favourite swain, And warm'd his soul with Heaven's inspiring light. Beneath the covert of the sylvan shade, Where deadly cypress, mix'd with mournful yew, Far o'er the vale a gloomy stillness spread, Celestial Genius burst upon the view. The bloom of youth, the majesty of years, In her fair hand a silver harp she bore, Whose magic notes, soft-warbling from the string, Give tranquil joy the breast ne'er knew before, For Haste, ye sister powers of song, Hasten from the shady grove, Where the river rolls along, Where, indulging mirthful pleasures, Where your gently-flowing numbers, graver strains prepare the plaintive lyre, Rack'd by the hand of rude Disease Far from his couch ungrateful flies. |