The Works of Thomas Gray

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Talboys and Wheeler, 1825

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Page 121 - Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined ; Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of Mercy on mankind, The struggling pangs of conscious Truth to hide, To quench the blushes of ingenuous Shame, 70 Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride With incense kindled at the Muse's flame.
Page 128 - THE EPITAPH. Here rests his head upon the lap of earth A youth, to Fortune and to Fame unknown: Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth, And Melancholy marked him for her own. 120 Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, Heaven did a recompence as largely send:
Page 112 - the moon." Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, Molest her ancient solitary reign. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, 15 The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.
Page 118 - Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 45 Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; Hands, that the rod of empire might have swayed, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre : But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page Rich with the spoils of Time did ne'er unroll; 50 Chill Penury repressed their noble rage, And froze the genial
Page 125 - led, 95 Some kindred spirit shall enquire thy fate, Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, " Oft have we seen him at the peep of Dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away. To meet the sun upon the upland lawn: 100
Page 122 - crowd's ignoble strife, Their sober wishes never learned to stray; Along the cool sequestered vale of life 75 They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. Yet e'en these bones from insult to protect Some frail memorial still erected nigh,
Page 40 - For the spirit of the living creature was in the wheels, and above the firmament that was over their heads was the likeness of a throne, as the appearance of a sapphire stone. This was the appearance of the glory of the Lord.—Ezek. i. 20, 26, 28.— GRAY.
Page 59 - Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, With many a foul and midnight murder fed, Revere his consort's faith, his father's fame, And spare the meek usurper's holy head ! 90 Above, below, the rose of snow, Twined with her blushing foe, we spread: The bristled Boar in infant gore Wallows beneath the thorny shade.
Page 117 - proud, impute to these the fault, If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise Where through the long-drawn isle and fretted vault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 40 Can storied urn, or animated bust, Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death
Page 58 - the feast: Close by the regal chair 80 Fell Thirst and Famine scowl A baleful smile upon their baffled guest. Heard ye the din of battle bray, Lance to lance, and horse to horse ? Long years of havoc urge their destined course, 85 And through the kindred squadrons mow their way.

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