Big with hosts of mighty name, Squadrons three against him came; This the force of Eirin hiding; Side by side as proudly riding; On her shadow long and gay Lochlin ploughs the watery way; There the Norman sails afar, Catch the winds and join the war; Black and huge along they sweep, Burthens of the angry deep. Dauntless on his native sands The dragon sont of Mona stands; In glitterring arms and glory drest, High he rears his ruby crest: There the thundering strokes begin, There the press and there the din, Talymalfra's rocky shore Echoing in the battle's roar. Checked by the torrent-tide of blood, Backward Meinai rolls his flood, While, heaped his master's feet around, Prostrate warriors gnaw the ground. Where his glowing eyeballs turn, Thousand banners round him burn; Where he points his purple spear. Hasty, hasty rout is there; Marking, with indignant eye, Fear to stop and shame to fly: There confusion, terror's child, Conflict fierce and ruin wild, Agony, that pants for breath, Despair and honourable death. ODE X. THE DEATH OF HOEL. From the Welsh of Aneurim, styled The Monarch of the Bards. He flourished about the time of Taliessin, A. D.570. This Ode is extracted from the Gododin. [See Mr. Evan's specimens, pp. 71, 73.] HAD I but the torrent's might, 'T'o rush and sweep them from the world! Denmark. 1 The red Dragon is the device of Cadwallader, which all his descendants bore on their banners. Every warrior's manly neck ODE XI. [FOR MUSIC.] Performed in the Senate-house, Cambridge, July 1, 1769, at the installation of his Grace Augustus-Henry-Fitzroy, Duke of Grafton, Chancellor of the University. I. "HENCE, avaunt! ('tis holy ground,) Nor in these consecrated bowers, Let painted flattery hide her serpent-train in flowers, Nor envy base, nor creeping gain, Dare the muse's walk to stain, While bright-eyed science watches round: II. From yonder realms of empyrean day Yet hither oft a glance from high To bless the place where on their opening soul 'Twas Milton struck the deep-toned shell In cloisters dim, far from the haunts of folly, With freedom by my side and soft-eyed melancholy." IV. But hark! the portals sound, in pacing forth, And sad Chatillon,† on her bridal morn, The murdered saint, and the majestic lord, “What is grandeur, what is power? Heavier toil, superior pain, • Edward III. who added the Fleur de lys of France to the arms of England. He founded Trinity College. Mary de Valentia, Countess of Pembroke, daughter of Guy de Chatillon, Comte de St. Paul in France, of whom tradition ays that her husband, Audemarde de Valentia, earl of Pembroke, was slain at a tournament on the day of his nuptials. She was the foundress of Pembroke-College, or Hall, under the name of Aula Mariæ de Valentia. Elizabeth de Burg, countess of Clare, was wife of Jolin de Burg, son and heir of the carl of Ulster, and daughter of Gilbert de Clare, earl of Gloucester, by Joan of Acres, daughter of Edward I. hence the poet gives her the epithet of princely. She founded Clare-hill. Margaret of Anjou, wife of Henry VI. foundress of Queen's College. The poet has celebrated her conjugal fidelity in a former ode. Elizabeth Widville, wife of Edward IV. (hence called the! paler Rose, as being of the house of York.) She added to the foundation of Margaret of Anjou. Henry VI. and VIII. the former the founder of King's, the watter the greatest banefactor to Trinity-College. What the bright reward we gain? VI. Foremost, and leaning from her golden cloud, VII. "Lo! Granta waits to lead her blooming band; Not obvious, not obtrusive, she No vulgar praise, no venal incense flings, With modest pride to grace thy youthful brow VIII. Through the wild waves, as they roar, With watchful eye, and dauntless mien, Thy steady course of honour keep, Nor fear the rock nor seek the shore: The star of Brunswick smiles serene, And gilds the horrors of the deep." • Countess of Richmond and Derby, the mother of Henry VII. foundress of St. John's and Christ's Colleges. The Countess was a Beaufort, and married to a Tudor, hence the application of this line to the duke of Graften, who claims descent from both these families. Lord treasurer Burleigh was chancellor of the Universty in the reign of queen Elizabeth. A LONG STORY. ADVERTISEMENT. Miscellanies. Mr. Gray's Elegy, previous to its publication, was handed about in MS. and had, amongst other admirers, the lady Cobham, who resided in the mansion-house at Stoke-Pogeis. The performance inducing her to wish for the author's acquaintance, lady Schaub and Miss Speed, then at her house, undertook to introduce her to it. These two ladies waited upon the author at his aunt's solitary habitation, where he at that time resided, and not finding him at home, they left a card behind them. Mr. Gray, surprised at such a compliment, returned the visit; and as the beginning of this intercourse bore some appearance of romance, he gave the humorous and lively account of it which the Long Story contains. IN Britain's isle, no matter where, An ancient pile of building stands;* The Huntingdons and Hattons there Employed the power of fairy hands. To raise the ceilings fretted height, Each pannel in achievements clothing, Rich windows that exclude the light, And passages that lead to nothing. Full oft within the spacious walls, When he had fifty winters o'er him, My grave lord-keepert led the brawls: The seal and maces danced before him. His bushy beard and shoe-strings green, His high-crowned hat and satin doublet, Moved the stout heart of England's queen, Though pope and Spaniard could not trouble it. What, in the very first beginning, Shame of the versifying tribe! A house there is (and that's enough) A brace of warriors, not in buff, But rustling in their silks and tissues. •The mansion-house at Stoke-Pogeis, then in possession of Viscountess Cobham. The style of building which we now call queen Elizabeth's, is here admirably described, both with regard to its beauties and defects; and the third and fourth stanzas delineate the fantastic manners of her time with equal truth and humour. The house formerly belonged to the earls of Huntingdon and the family of Hatton. ↑ Sir Christopher Hatton, promoted by Queen Elizabeth for Sis graceful person and fine dancing. Brawls were a sort of a figure-dance then in vogue, and probably deemed as elegant s our modern cotillions, or still more modern quadrilles. The reader is already apprised who these ladies were; the The first came cap-a-pèe from France, The other Amazon kind Heaven Coarse panegyrics would but tease her; And aprons long, they hid their armour, And veiled their weapons bright and keen In pity to the country farmer. Fame in the shape of Mr. P―t,* (By this time all the parish know it) Had told that thereabouts there lurked A wicked imp they called a poet. Who prowled the country far and near, Bewitched the children of the peasants, Dried up the cows and lamed the deer, And sucked the eggs and killed the pheasants. My lady heard their joint petition, Swore by her coronet and ermine, She'd issue out her high commission To rid the manor of such vermin. The heroines undertook the task; Through lanes unknown, o'er stiles they ventured, Rapped at the door, nor stayed to ask, The trembling family they daunt, They flirt, they sing, they laugh, they tattle. Rummage his mother, pinch his aunt, And up stairs in a whirlwind rattle. Each hole and cupboard they explore, Each creek and cranny of his chamber, two descriptions are prettily contrasted; and nothing can be more happily turned than the compliment to lady Cobham in the eighth stanza. ⚫ I have been told that this gentleman, a neighbour and acqaintance of Mr. Gray's in the country, was much displeased at the liberty here taken with his name, yet surely without any great reason. Run hurry scurry round the floor, And o'er the bed and tester clamber; Into the drawers and china pry, Papers and books, a huge imbroglio! Under a tea-cup he might lie, Or creased like dog's ears in a folio. On the first marching of the troops, The muses, hopeless of his pardon, Conveyed him underneath their hoops To a small closet in the garden. So rumour says, (who will believe?) But that they left the door a-jar, Where safe, and laughing in his sleeve He heard the distant din of war. Short was his joy; he little knew The power of magic was no fable; Out of the window wisk they flew, But left a spell upon the table. The words too eager to unriddle, The poet felt a strange disorder; Transparent birdlime formed the middle, And chains invisible the border. So cunning was the apparatus, The powerful pothooks did so move him, That will he nill to the great house He went as if the devil drove him. Yet on his way (no sign of grace, To Phoebus he preferred his case, The godhead would have backed his quarrel: Owned that his quiver and his laurel 'Gainst four such eyes were no protection. The court was sat, the culprit there: Forth from their gloomy mansions creeping, The lady Janes and Jones repair, And from the gallery stand peeping; Such as in silence of the night Come (sweep) along some winding entry, (Styack* has often seen the sight) Or at the chapel-door stand sentry; In peaked hoods and mantle tarnished, The peeress comes: the audience stare, •The house-keeper. The bard with many an artful fib But soon his rhetoric forsook him He stood as mute as poor Macleane.‡ Or any malice to the poultry,) He once or twice had penned a sonnet, The ghostly prudes, with haggeds face, She smiled, and bid him come to dinner.li "Jesu-Maria! Madam Bridget, Why, what can the viscountess mean!" Her air and all her manners show it: And so God save our noble king, And guard us from long-winded lubbers, That to eternity would sing, And keep my lady from her rubbers. ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD. THE Curfew tollsT the knell of parting day, The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. • The steward. ↑ Groom of the chamber. A famous highwayman, hanged the week before. Hagged, i. e. the face of a witch or hag. The epithet hag gard has been sometimes mistaken as conveying the same idea, but it means a very different thing, viz. wild and farouche, and is taken from an unreclaimed hawk called a haggard. I Here the story finishes; the exclamation of the ghosts, which follows, is characteristic of the Spanish manners of the age when they are supposed to have lived, and the 500 stanzas said to be lost, may be imagined to contain the remainder of their long-winded expostulation. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, | Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast The moping owl does to the moon complain 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 turfin many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; How jocund did they drive their team afield! How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke. Let not ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure: The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye proud! impute to these the fault, Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed,| Or waked to ecstacy the living lyre. But knowledge to their eyes her ample page, Rich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll; Chill penury repressed their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul. Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear; Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air. The little tyrant of his fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Milton, here may rest, Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood, The applause of listening senates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their history in a nation's eyes, Their lot forbade; nor circumscribed alone 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, Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride With incense kindled at the muse's flame. Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, Their sober wishes never learned to stray; Along the cool sequestered vale of life They kept the noiseless tenour of their way. Yet e'en these bones, from insult to protect Some frail memorial still erected nigh, With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. Their name,their years, spelt by the unlettered muse, The place of fame and elegy supply, And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die. For who to dumb forgetfulness a prey This pleasing anxious being e'er resigned, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing lingering look behind? On some fond breast the parting soul relies, Some pious drops the closing eye requires; For thee, who, mindful of the unhonoured dead, 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. * This part of the elegy differs from the first copy. The following stanza was excluded with the other alterations: Hark! how the sacred calm, that breathes around, Bids every fierce tumultuous passion cease, In still small accents whispering from the ground, A grateful earnest of eternal peace. ↑ Ch'i veggio nel pensier, dolce mio fuoco, Fredda una lingua, et due begli occhi chiufi Rimaner droppo noi pien difaville.-Petrarch, Son. 169. |