Still aiming at honour, yet fearing to roam, The coachman was tipsy, the chariot drove home: What was good was spontaneous, his faults were his own. 50 What spirits were his! what wit and what whim, Now wrangling and grumbling to keep up the ball, 55 In short so provoking a devil was Dick, That we wish'd him full ten times a day at Old Nick; As often we wish'd to have Dick back again. бо Here Cumberland lies, having acted his parts, The Terence of England, the mender of hearts; To draw men as they ought to be, not as they are. 65 And comedy wonders at being so fine; Like a tragedy queen he has dizen'd her out, His fools have their follies so lost in a crowd To find out men's virtues, and finding them few, Here Douglas retires from his toils to relax, The scourge of impostors, the terror of quacks: 80 Come, all ye quack bards, and ye quacking divines, Come, and dance on the spot where your tyrant reclines: When satire and censure encircled his throne, I fear'd for your safety, I fear'd for my own; 85 Our Dodds shall be pious, our Kenricks shall lecture; New Lauders and Bowers the Tweed shall cross over 90 And Scotchman meet Scotchman, and cheat in the dark. Here lies David Garrick, describe me who can, An abridgment of all that was pleasant in man; 95 100 Yet, with talents like these, and an excellent heart, 105 ΙΙΟ Till his relish grown callous, almost to disease, But peace to his spirit, wherever it flies, To act as an angel, and mix with the skies. Old Shakespeare receive him with praise and with love, 115 120 Here Hickey reclines, a most blunt, pleasant creature, 125 And slander itself must allow him good nature; He cherish'd his friend, and he relish'd a bumper, 130 Then what was his failing? come, tell it, and burn ye: 135 He was could he help it?-a special attorney. Here Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you my mind, 140 His pencil our faces, his manners our heart. To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering, When they judg'd without skill, he was still hard of hearing: When they talk'd of their Raphaels, Correggios, and stuff, He shifted his trumpet, and only took snuff. By flattery unspoil'd 146 POSTSCRIPT HERE Whitefoord reclines, and deny it who can, 150 Who scatter'd around wit and humour at will; 155 A Scotchman, from pride and from prejudice free, NOTES ON GRAY'S POEMS ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD(PAGE 3) The Elegy was probably begun in 1742 and was finished at Stoke Pogis in June, 1750. Gray's mother and aunt lived here, and he was accustomed to come over from Cambridge frequently to spend a few days with them. His favorite walks are still pointed out. All three are buried in the church-yard, and there is a large monument to Gray in Stoke Park near by. The poem may have been inspired by the death of Gray's dearest friend, Richard West. See Gosse, Life of Gray. The poet was in no haste to publish it and did so only to prevent an unauthorized edition. The piece almost immediately became very popular. It was translated into several languages and freely parodied. The author at first withheld his name and was always somewhat annoyed by the notoriety the poem brought him. He would accept no royalty for it. It should be read aloud and re-read until the remarkable beauty of expression, which has made it a universal favorite, is fully appreciated. It would be well to compare Bryant's Thanatopsis and Milton's L'Allegro and Il Penseroso. 1-12. What is the purpose of these introductory stanzas? 1. The curfew tolls. Thomas Carte, an historian contemporary with Gray, says that William the Conqueror instituted an ordinance, that all the common people should put out their fire and candle and go to bed at seven o'clock, upon the ringing of a bell, called the couvre feu bell, on pain of death. Parting. Cf. Deserted Village, 171; also Longfellow's Dante, Purgatory, Canto VIII, 5, 6. 2. Wind. Why not winds? 4. And leaves the world. Cf. Ode to Evening by Collins and by Joseph Warton. 6. Holds. What is the subject? 7. Cf. Lycidas, 28, and Macbeth, Act III, sc. ii. |