and the dogmatism of learning, must be finally decided, all claim to poetical honours. The Church-yard abounds with images which find a mirror in every mind, and with sentiments to which every bosom returns an echo. The four ftanzas beginning, Yet c'en these bones are to me original; I have never seen the notions in any other place; yet he that reads them here, perfuades himself that he has always felt them. Had Gray written often thus, it had been vain to blame, and useless to praise him." THE TEARS OF GENIUS: AN ODE, TO THE MEMORY OF MR. GRAY, (By J. T.) ON Cham's fair banks, where Learning's hallow'd Majestic rifes on th' aftonish'd fight, [fane Where oft the Muse has led the fav'rite fwain, Where deadly cypress, mix'd with mournful yew, The bloom of youth, the majefty of years, Whose magic notes, foft warbling from the string, 8 12 17 By grief impell'd, I heard her heave a figh, Hafte, ye fifter powers of Song! Haften from the shady grove, Where the river rolls along Sweetly to the voice of love; Where, indulging mirthful pleasures, 2.24 26 Where your gently-flowing numbers, For graver ftrains prepare the plaintive lyre, In transport's radiant garments dreft, 30 34 38 With darkfome grandeur, and enfeebled blaze, 43 Sinks in the shades of night, and shuns his eager gaze. The gaudy train who wait on Spring, Ting'd with the pomp of vernal pride, The youth, who mount on pleasure's wing, † And idly fport on Thame's fide, With cool regard their various arts employ, 49 Norroufe the drooping mind, nor give the paufe of joy. Ha! what forms, with port fublime, ‡ Glide along in fullen mood, Scorning all the threats of time, High above misfortune's flood? * Ode on Spring. ton College, 54 † Ode on the Prospect of E Bard, an Ode. C They feize their harps, they ftrike the lyre, 57 And Snowdon's airy cliffs the heav'nly strains refound. of ftate behold they wait, In pomp With arms outstretch'd and aspects kind, To fnatch on high to yonder sky The child of Fancy left behind; Forgot the woes of Cambria's fatal day, 63 By rapture's blaze impell'd, they fwell the artlefs lay. But ah! in vain they strive to footh * With gentle arts the tort'ring hours, 68 72 [page. She gnawsthe throbbing breaft, and blafts the glowing No more the foft Eolian flute + Breathes thro' the heart the melting ftrain, The pow'rs of Harmony are mute, And leave the once-delightful plain; With heavy wing I see them beat the air, 79 Damp'd by the leaden hand of comfortless Despair. Yet ftay, O ftay! celeftial Pow'rs! And with a hand of kind regard *Ode to Adverfity. The Progrefs of Poetry. Difpel the boift'rous storm that lowrs Deftructive on the fav'rite bard; O watch with me his laft expiring breath, 85 And fnatch him from the arms of dark oblivious Death. Hark! the Fatal Sifter's * join, And, with horror's mutt'ring founds, "O'er the Mufes' tuneful band, “Weave the fun'ral web of Gray." 'Tis done, 'tis done-the iron hand of Pain, Thus fades the flow'r, nipp'd by the frozen gale, Ye facred Sifters of the plaintive verse, The Fatal Sifters, an Ode. 98 102 106 |