75 Fields that cool Ilissus laves, Or where Mæander's amber waves How do your tuneful echoes languish, Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains. And coward Vice that revels in her chains. When Latium had her lofty spirit lost, They sought, O Albion!* next thy sea-encircled coast. III. I. Far from the sun and summer gale, In thy green lap was nature's darling laid, To him the mighty mother did unveil Her awful face: the dauntless child "This pencil take," she said, "whose colors clear Thine too these golden keys, immortal boy! Of horror that, and thrilling fears, Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears." 68. Ilis'sus. This stream flows through the east side of Athens. tricate turnings and windings. 77. Nine, the nine Muses. 69, 70. Mæander's . . . waves. . . labyrinths creep. On the banks of the river Mæander, in Asia Minor, was the city of Miletus, one of the earliest seats of Hellenic 84. nature's darling: that is, Shakeculture. In its lower course speare. Compare L'Aliegro, this river flows through a wide ¦ page 55, line 125, of this book. plain, where it wanders in in- 86. mighty mother, nature. &; III. 2. Nor second he that rode sublime The secrets of the abyss to spy. He passed the flaming bounds of place and time; Where angels tremble while they gaze, He saw.; but, blasted with excess of light, 95 100 Closed his eyes in endless night. Behold, where Dryden's less presumptuous* car, Wide o'er the fields of glory bear Two coursers of ethereal* race, With necks in thunder clothed, and long resounding pace. III. 3. Hark, his hands the lyre explore! Bright-eyed Fancy hovering o'er, Scatters from her pictured urn Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. But, ah! 'tis heard no more: O lyre divine, what daring spirit Wakes thee now? Though he inherit 105 110 profound student, an enthusi- any excellence in his own numbers, he had learned it wholly from that great poet." imitator of Milton, and here 105. Two coursers, meaning the heroic pays a sublime tribute to the Puritan bard. 99. The living throne, etc. See Ezekiel i., 20, 26, 28. IOI. blasted... light. Compare Milton's expression (Paradise Lost. iii., 380): "Dark with excessive bright thy skirts appear." couplet (as in Absalom and Achitophel), which in Dryden's hands acquired great vigor. 107. his hands: that is, Dryden's. 111. "We have had in our language no other ode of the sublime kind than that of Dryden on St. Cecilia's Day.”—GRAY. 103. Dryden. Gray "admired Dryden 113. Wakes thee now: that is, in this poem.-he. Gray is here modestly referring to himself. Nor the pride nor ample pinion* Through the azure deep of air; Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way Beneath the good how far! but far above the great. 115. Theban eagle, Pindar. ton (Paradise Lost, i., 546): "with orient colors waving." 122. Beyond... fate. Gray's original The manuscript has, "Yet never can he fear a vulgar fate." change is an improvement. 123. the great, the merely worldly great, high in station. 115 120 Oliver Goldsmithy THACKERAY'S TRIBUTE TO GOLDSMITH.' 1. Who, of the millions whom Goldsmith has amused, doesn't love him? To be the most beloved of English writers, what a title that is for a man! A wild youth, wayward, but full of ten 'From Thackeray's Humorists of the Eighteenth Century. derness and affection, quits the country village where his boyhood has been passed in happy musing, in idle shelter, in fond longing to see the great world out-of-doors, and achieve name and fortune; and after years of dire struggle, and neglect and poverty, his heart turning back as fondly to his native place as it had longed eagerly for change when sheltered there, he writes a book and a poem full of the recollections and feelings of home -he paints the friends and scenes of his youth, and peoples Auburn and Wakefield with remembrances of Lissoy. Wander he must, but he carries away a home-relic with him, and dies with it on his breast. 2. His nature is truant; in repose it longs for the journey it looks back for friends and quiet. change, as on He passes today in building an air-castle for to-morrow, or in writing yesterday's elegy; and he would fly away this hour, but that a cage and necessity keep him. What is the charm of his verse, of his style, and humor? His sweet regrets, his delicate compassion, his soft smile, his tremulous sympathy, the weakness which he owns? Your love for him is half pity. You come hot and tired from the day's battle, and this sweet minstrel sings to you. 3. Who could harm the kind vagrant harper? Whom did he ever hurt? He carries no weapon, save the harp on which he plays to you; and with which he delights great and humble, young and old, the captains in the tents or the soldiers round the fire, or the women and children in the villages, at whose porches he stops and sings his simple songs of love and beauty. With that sweet story of The Vicar of Wakefield, he has found entry into every castle and every hamlet in Europe. Not one of us, however busy or hard, but once or twice in our lives has passed an evening with him, and undergone the charm of his delightful music. 4. Think of him reckless, thriftless, vain if you like, but merciful, gentle, generous, full of love and pity. He passes out of our life, and goes to render his account beyond it. Think of the poor pensioners weeping at his grave; think of the noble spirits that admired and deplored him; think of the righteous pen that wrote his epitaph, and of the wonderful and unanimous response of affection with which the world has paid back the love he gave |