ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE. [This was the first English production of Mr. Gray that appeared in print, and was published in folio, by Dodsley, in 1747. About the same time, at Mr. Walpole's request, Mr. Gray sat for his picture to Echart; in which, on a paper which he held in his hand, Mr. Walpole wrote the title of this Ode; and to intimate his own high and just opinion of it, as a first production, he added this line of Lucan by way of motto: Nec licuit populis parvum te, Nile, videre. Pharsalia, lib. x. l. 296.] YE distant spires, ye antique towers, That crown the wat❜ry glade, Where grateful Science still adores Her HENRY's holy shade e ; And ye, that from the stately brow Of WINDSOR'S heights th' expanse below Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey, Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among His silver-winding way: e King Henry the Sixth, founder of the College. D Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade! Where once my careless childhood stray'd, I feel the gales that from ye blow As waving fresh their gladsome wing, Say, Father THAMES, for thou hast seen To chase the rolling circle's speed, While some on earnest business bent f And, redolent of joy and youth. 'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint To sweeten liberty: Some bold adventurers disdain The limits of their little reign, Gay hope is theirs by Fancy fed, And lively Cheer, of Vigour born; Alas! regardless of their doom No sense have they of ills to come, Nor care beyond to-day : Yet see, how all around 'em wait The Ministers of human fate, And black Misfortune's baneful train! Ah, show them where in ambush stand, These shall the fury Passions tear, And Shame that sculks behind; Ambition this shall tempt to rise, The stings of Falsehood those shall try, [4] And hard Unkindness' alter'd eye. The elision here, observes Mr. Mason, is ungraceful, and hurts this otherwise beautifulline: One of the same kind in the second line of the first Ode makes the same blemish; but I think they are the only two to be found in And keen Remorse with blood defil'd, Lo, in the Vale of Years beneath A grisly troop are seen, The painful family of Death, More hideous than their Queen: Lo, Poverty, to fill the band, That numbs the soul with icy hand, To each his suff'rings: all are men, this correct writer; and I mention them here that succeeding Poets may not look upon them as authorities. The judicious reader will not suppose that I would condemn all elisions of the genitive case, by this stricture on those which are terminated by rough consonants. Many there are which the ear readily admits, and which use has made familiar to it. And moody Madness laughing wild. |