But now Dan Phoebus gains the middle skie,
And Liberty unbars her prison-door;
And like a rushing torrent out they fly,
And now the grassy cirque had cover'd o'er
With boisterous revel-rout and wild uproar;
A thousand ways in wanton rings they run,
Heaven shield their short-liv'd pastime, I im-
plore '

For well may Freedom erst so dearly won, Appear to British elf more gladsome than the Sun.

Enjoy, poor imps! enjoy your sportive trade,
And chase gay flies, and cull the fairest flowers;
For when my bones in grass-green sods are laid,
For never may ye taste more careless hours
In knightly castles, or in ladies' bowers.
O vain to seek delight in earthly thing!
But most in courts where proud Amb tion towers;
Deluded wight! who weens fair Peace can spring
Beneath the pompous dome of kesar or of king.

ELEGY,

Describing the sorrow of an ingenuous mind, on the melancholy event of a licentious amour.

See! cherries here, ere cherries yet abound,
With thread so white in tempting posies tied,
Scattering like blooming maid their glances round,
With pamper'd look draw little eyes aside;
And must be bought, though penury betide.
The plum all azure, and the nut all brown,
And here each season do those cakes abide,
Whose honor'd names* th' inventive city own,
Rendering through Britain's isle Salopia's praises
known;

WHY mourns my friend? why weeps his downcast

eye,

That eye where mirth, where fancy us'd to shine? Thy cheerful meads reprove that swelling sigh; Spring ne'er enamel'd fairer meads than thine

Nor had I bid these vernal sweets farewell.

See in each sprite some various bent appear! These rudely carol most incondite lay; Those sauntering on the green, with jocund leer Then had my bosom 'scap'd this fatal wound, Salute the stranger passing on his way; Some builden fragile tenements of clay; Some to the standing lake their courses bend, With pebbles smooth at duck and drake to play; Thilk to the huxter's savory cottage tend, In pastry kings and queens th' allotted mite to

spend.

* Shrewsbury cakes.

Art thou not lodg'd in Fortune's warm embrace?
Wert thou not form'd by Nature's partial care
Blest in thy song, and blest in every grace

That wins the friend, or that enchants the fair? "Damon," said he, "thy partial praise restrain;

Alas! his very praise awakes my pain,
Not Damon's friendship can my peace restore;

And my poor wounded bosom bleeds the more.

"For oh! that Nature on my birth had frown'd, Or Fortune fix'd me to some lowly cell;

"But led by Fortune's hand, her darling child,

My youth her vain licentious bliss admir'd: In Fortune's train the syren Flattery smil'd, And rashly hallow'd all her queen inspir'd.

Here, as each season yields a different store,
Each season's stores in order ranged been;
Apples with cabbage-net y-cover'd o'er,
Galling full sore th' unmoney'd wight, are seen;
And goose-b'rie clad in livery red or green;
And here of lovely dye, the catharine pear,
Fine pear! as lovely for thy juice, I ween:
O may no wight e'er penniless come there,
Lest smit with ardent love he pine with hopeless"

care!

"Of folly studious, e'en of vices vain,

Ah vices! gilded by the rich and gay!
I chas'd the guileless daughters of the plain,
Nor dropp'd the chase, till Jessy was my prey.
"Poor artless maid! to stain thy spotless name,

Expense, and art, and toil, united strove;
To lure a breast that felt the purest flame,
Sustain'd by virtue, but betray'd by love.

School'd in the science of love's mazy wiles,

I cloth'd each feature with affected scorn;
I spoke of jealous doubts, and fickle smiles,
And, feigning, left her anxious and forlorn.
"Then, while the fancied rage alarm'd her care,

Warm to deny, and zealous to disprove;
I bade my words their wonted softness wear

And seiz'd the minute of returning love.

"To thee, my Damon, dare I paint the rest?

Will yet thy love a candid ear incline?
Assur'd that virtue, by misfortune prest,

Feels not the sharpness of a pang like mine.
"Nine envious moons matur'd her growing shame
Erewhile to flaunt it in the face of day;
When, scorn'd of virtue, stigmatiz'd by fame,
Low at my feet desponding Jessy lay.

Admir'd Salopia! that with venial pride
Eyes her bright form in Severn's ambient wave,
Fam'd for her loyal cares in perils tried,
Her daughters lovely, and her striplings brave:
Ah! 'midst the rest, may flowers adorn his grave...
Whose heart did first these dulcet cates display!
A motive fair to Learning's imps he gave,
Who cheerless o'er her darkling region stray;
Till Reason's morn arise, and light them on their
way.

'Henry,' she said, 'by thy dear form subdu'd, See the sad relics of a nymph undone! I'find, I find this rising sob renew'd:

I sigh in shades, and sicken at the Sun

"Amid the dreary gloom of night, I cry,

When will the morn's once pleasing scenes return Yet what can orn's returning ray supply,

But foes that triumph, or but friends that mourn

THOMAS GRAY.

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THOMAS GRAY was born in London, December composed several years before. It met with 26, 1716. He was educated at Eton and at immediate appreciation, went rapidly through Cambridge. At Eton he became intimate with eleven editions, and was translated into Latin. Horace Walpole, and after their college-days And its popularity has never waned. In 1757 were over they travelled together on the Conti- he published his "Pindaric Odes." The same nent. Gray studied law for a while; but after year he declined the Laureate-ship, which had the death of his father, in 1741, he gave it up become vacant by the death of Cibber. In 1768 and went to Cambridge to take the doctor's de- he was appointed to the chair of Modern Hisgree. There he spent the greater part of history at Cambridge. The professorship had been life. His passion was for books and for natural held as a sinecure, but Gray prepared to fulfil scenery. The one he found in the great libra- its duties. His good intentions, however, were ries, and for the other he rambled about in Wales, defeated by his natural indolence and by declinScotland, and the lake district of England. In ing health. He died of gout, on July 30, 1771, his travels he always carried a note-book, and and was buried at Stoke-Pogis, Buckinghamhis letters to his literary friends were filled with shire, in the churchyard which is the scene of descriptions of what he saw. In 1747 he pub- his Elegy. Gray wrote but little poetry (nearly lished his "Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton all his poems are in this collection), but what he College," whose closing lines are one of the did write is singularly perfect. In proportion most familiar of all quotations. In 1751 his to its quantity, it has probably furnished more "Elegy in a Country Churchyard" was pub- popular quotations than the works of any other lished anonymously. Portions of it had been writer of English verse.