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which he had succeeded, and from the concern of which he was anxious to relieve himself, was finally surmounted by means of his owu knowledge of law.
The local poems by which Gray has impressed a classical stamp upon Stoke are, The Elegy written in a Country Churchyard, The Long Story, both written in 1750, and his Ode to Eton College, written before, in the year 1742; in which year were also written the Ode to Spring, the Hymn to Adversity, and the Sonnet on the death of Mr. West, (the first certainly, and the two last probably,) at Stoke.
It was in the year 1780 that (Miss Speed, now) Countess de Viry enabled the lover of poetry to see in print the Rondeau, and another small amatory poem of Gray, called Thyrsis, by presenting them to the Rev. Mr. Leman, of Suffolk, while on a visit at her castle in Savoy. She died there in 1783.
POEMS AND FRAGMENTS.
ON THE PLEASURES ARISING FROM VICISSITUDE.
Left unfinished by Mr. Gray. With additions by
Mr. Mason, distinguished by inverted commas.
Now the golden morn aloft
Waves her dew-bespangled wing,
She woos the tardy spring :
Frisking ply their feeble feet;
The birds his presence greet:
But chief, the sky-lark warbles high
Rise, my soul! on wings of fire,
Rise the rapturous choir among ; Hark! 'tis nature strikes the lyre,
And leads the general song : “ Warm let the lyric transport flow, " Warm as the ray that bids it glow; “ And animates the vernal grove “ With health, with harmony, and love."
Yesterday the sullen year
Saw the snowy whirlwind fly;
The herd stood drooping by :
Smiles past misfortune's brow
Soft reflection's hand can trace ;
A melancholy grace;
Still, where rosy pleasure leads,
See a kindred grief pursue ;
Approaching comfort view:
See the wretch, that long has toss'd
On the thorny bed of pain,
And breathe and walk again :
Humble quiet builds her cell,
Near the source whence pleasure flows; She eyes the clear crystalline well,
And tastes it as it goes. • While' far below the 'madding' crowd “Rush headlong to the dangerous flood,' Where broad and turbulent it sweeps, * And’ perish in the boundless deeps.
Mark where indolence, and pride,
• Sooth'd by fiattery's tinkling sound,' Go, softly rolling, side by side,
Their dull but daily round :
• To these, if Hebe's self should bring
Mark ambition's march sublime
Up to power's meridian height;
And sickens at the sight.
· Happier he, the peasant, far,
From the pangs of passion free,
Of rugged penury.
· He, unconscious whence the bliss,
Feels, and owns in carols rude, That all the circling joys are his,
Of dear Vicissitude. From toil he wins his spirits light, From busy day the peaceful niglit; Rich, from the very want of wealth, In heaven's best treasures, peace and health.'