When first thy sire to send on earth What sorrow was, thou bad'st her know, And from her own she learn'd to melt at others' woe. Scared at thy frown terrific, fly Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood, Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy, To her they vow their truth, and are again Wisdom in sable garb array'd, Immersed in rapturous thought profound, And Melancholy, silent maid With leaden eye that loves the ground, Still on thy solemn steps attend; Warm Charity, the general friend, With Justice to herself severe, And Pity, dropping soft the sadly-pleasing tear. Oh, gently on thy suppliant's head, Dread Goddess, lay thy chastening hand! 16 24 32 Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad, Nor circled with the vengeful band (As by the impious thou art seen) With thundering voice, and threatening mien, erty. Thy form benign, oh Goddess, wear, Thy philosophic train be there To soften, not to wound my heart, The generous spark extinct revive, Teach me to love and to forgive, Exact my own defects to scan, What others are, to feel, and know myself a Man. 1742. 1753. 40 48 Thomas Gray. ODE ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE YE distant spires, ye antique towers, And ye, that from the stately brow Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among Wanders the hoary Thames along His silver-winding way. Ah happy hills, ah pleasing shade, Ah fields beloved in vain, Where once my careless childhood stray'd, I feel the gales, that from ye blow, A momentary bliss bestow, As waving fresh their gladsome wing My weary soul they seem to soothe, And, redolent of joy and youth, To breathe a second spring. Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen The paths of pleasure trace, Who foremost now delight to cleave The captive linnet which enthrall, What idle progeny succeed To chase the rolling circle's speed, While some on earnest business bent 'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint ΙΟ 20 30 40 Some bold adventurers disdain And unknown regions dare descry; Gay Hope is theirs by fancy fed, The sunshine of the breast; And lively Cheer of Vigour born; The thoughtless day, the easy night, The spirits pure, the slumbers light, That fly th' approach of morn. Alas, regardless of their doom, The little victims play! No sense have they of ills to come, Nor care beyond to-day; Yet see how all around 'em wait The Ministers of human fate, And black Misfortune's baleful train! Ah, shew them where in ambush stand, These shall the fury Passions tear, The vultures of the mind, Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear, And Shame that skulks behind 60 50 Or pining Love shall waste their youth, That inly gnaws the secret heart, Ambition this shall tempt to rise, And grinning Infamy. The stings of Falsehood those shall try, That mocks the tear it forced to flow; Lo! in the Vale of Years beneath The painful family of Death, More hideous than their queen: This racks the joints, this fires the veins, Those in the deeper vitals rage; Lo, Poverty, to fill the band, That numbs the soul with icy hand, To each his sufferings; all are men, 70 80 90 |