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"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.
Tho' once so sweet, so lovely to the eye:
Torn from the earth, a mighty ruin lie,
Now let the stream of fond affection flow ; ;
With solem pause yon Church-yard's gloom survey, While Sorrow's sighs and tears of Pity tell
How just the moral of the Poet's lay.
O’er his green grave, in Contemplation's guise,
Oft let the pilgrím 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.
 Elegy in a Country Church-Yard.
MR. GRAY's MONUMENT,
IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.
BY MR. MASON.
NO more the Grecian Muse unrivall’d reigns, • To Britain let the nations homage pay ! She boasts a Homer's fire in Milton's strains,
A Pindar's rapture in the lyre of GRAY.
[The articles thus * marked have never appeared
in any other Collection of Mr. Gray's Works.]
he Author - - - - 3
ON the Spring . .
Addressed to, and in Memory of, Mr. Gray.