This racks the joints, this fires the veins, That every labouring finew ftrains, Those in the deeper vitals rage: Lo, Poverty, to fill the band, That numbs the foul with icy hand, To each his suff'rings; all are men, Condemn'd alike to groan; The tender for another's pain; ✓ Th' unfeeling for his own. Yet, ah! why fhould they know their fate! Since forrow never comes too late, And happiness too swiftly flies. Thought would destroy their paradise. No more-where ignorance is blifs, 'Tis folly to be wise, MR. GRAY's Elegy in the Country Church Yard, before it appeared in print, was handed about in manufcript; and amongst other eminent perfonages who faw and admired it, was the Lady Cobham, who refided at the Manfion-house at StokePogeis. The performance induced her to wifh for the author's acquaintance; and Lady Schaub and Mifs Speed, then at her house, undertook to effect it. These two ladies waited upon the author at his aunt's folitary manfion, where he at that time refided; and not finding him at home, they left a card behind them. Mr. Gray, surprised at such a compliment, returned the vifit. And as the beginning of this acquaintance wore a little of the face of romance, he foon after gave a fanciful and pleasant account of it in the following copy of verses, which he entitled A LONG STORY. ་ ALTHOUGH this performance certainly poffeffes great humour, yet it is not immediately perceived; and has not been univerfally relifhed. The author perceived this himself, and owned it candidly."The verses," he writes to Dr. Wharton, “ you ❝fo kindly try to keep in countenance, were writ❝ten merely to divert Lady Cobham and her family, and fucceeded accordingly; but being "fhewed about in town, are not liked at all." This laft confideration induced Mr. Gray to reject them in the Collection which he himself made of his 66 poems. MR. GRAY'S Executor having thought fit to reftore them, they are retained here. A LONG STOR Y. IN Britain's ifle, no matter where, To raise the ceiling's fretted height, Full |