So sweetly she bade me adieu,

I thought that she bade me return.

A Pastoral. Parti

I have found out a gift for my fair;
I have found where the wood-pigeons breed.
My banks they are furnish'd with bees,
Whose murmur invites one to sleep.
For seldom shall she hear a tale
So sad, so tender, and so true.

Her cap, far whiter than the driven snow,
Emblems right meet of decency does yield.

Ibid.

Part ii. Hope

Jemmy Dawson.

The Schoolmistress. Stanza 6.

Pun-provoking thyme.

Stanza 11.

A little bench of heedless bishops here,
And there a chancellor in embryo.

Stanza 28.

JOHN BROWN. 1715-1766.

Now let us thank the Eternal Power: convinced
That Heaven but tries our virtue by affliction,
That oft the cloud which wraps the present hour
Serves but to brighten all our future days.

Barbarossa. Act v. Sc. 3.

And coxcombs vanquish Berkeley by a grin.

An Essay on Satire, occasioned by the Death of Mr. Pope,1

JAMES TOWNLEY. 1715-1778.

Kitty. Shikspur? Shikspur? Who wrote it? No, I never read Shikspur.

Lady Bab. Then you have an immense pleasure to High Life below Stairs. Act ii. Sc. 1.

come.

From humble Port to imperial Tokay.

Ibid.

1 ANDERSON: British Poets, vol. x. p. 879. See note in "Contemporary Review," September, 1867, p. 4.

THOMAS GRAY. 1716-1771.

What female heart can gold despise?

What cat's averse to fish? On the death of a Favourite Cat.

A fav'rite has no friend!

Ye distant spires, ye antique towers.

Ibid.

On a Distant Prospect of Eton College. Stanza 1.

Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade !

Ah, fields beloved in vain!

Where once my careless childhood stray'd,
A stranger yet to pain!

blow

I feel the gales that from ye
A momentary bliss bestow.
They hear a voice in every wind,
And snatch a fearful joy.

Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed,
Less pleasing when possest;

The tear forgot

as soon as shed,

The sunshine of the breast.

Alas! regardless of their doom,

The little victims play;

No sense have they of ills to come,
Nor care beyond to-day.

Ah, tell them they are men!

And moody madness laughing wild
Amid severest woe.

To each his suff'rings; all are men,
Condemn'd alike to groan,

The tender for another's pain,

Th' unfeeling for his own.

Yet ah! why should they know their fate,
Since sorrow never comes too late,

Stanza 2.

Stanza 4.

Stanza 5.

Stanza 6.

Ibid.

Stanza 8

And happiness too swiftly flies? Thought would destroy their paradise. No more; where ignorance is bliss,

'Tis folly to be wise.1

On a Distant Prospect of Eton College. Stanza 10

Daughter of Jove, relentless power,
Thou tamer of the human breast,
Whose iron scourge and tort'ring hour
The bad affright, afflict the best!

From Helicon's harmonious springs
A thousand rills their mazy progress take.

Hymn to Adversity.

The Progress of Poesy. I. 1, Line 3.

Glance their many-twinkling feet.

3, Line 11.

O'er her warm cheek and rising bosom move
The bloom of young Desire and purple light of Love.'

Her track, where'er the goddess roves,
Glory pursue, and gen'rous shame,

Line 16.

Th' unconquerable mind, and freedom's holy flame.

11. 2, Line 10.

Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears.

III. 1, Line 12.

He pass'd the flaming bounds of place and time:
The living throne, the sapphire blaze,
Where angels tremble while they gaze,

He saw; but blasted with excess of light,
Closed his eyes in endless night.

2, Line 4.

1 See Davenant, page 217.

He that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow. — Ecclesiastes i. 18.

2 The light of love. - BYRON: Bride of Abydos, canto i. stanza 6. 8 Unconquerable mind. WORDSWORTH: To Toussaint L'Ouverture. 4 See Cowley, page 262.

Ruin seize thee, ruthless king!
Confusion on thy banners wait!

Though fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing,
They mock the air with idle state.

Loose his beard, and hoary hair

The Bard. I. 1, Line 1.

Stream'd like a meteor to the troubled air.1

To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay.

Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes;
Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart.2

Weave the warp,
and weave the woof,
The winding-sheet of Edward's race.
Give ample room and verge enough
The characters of hell to trace.

8

2, Line 5.

Line 14.

3, Line 12.

II. 1, Line 1.

Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows;
While proudly riding o'er the azure realm
In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes,

Youth
on the

prow,

Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway,
That hush'd in grim repose expects his evening prey.

and Pleasure at the helm;

Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame,
With many a foul and midnight murder fed.
Visions of glory, spare my aching sight!
Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!

And truth severe, by fairy fiction drest.
Comus and his midnight crew.
While bright-eyed Science watches round.

The still small voice of gratitude.

2, Line 9.

3, Line 11.

III. 1, Line 11.

3, Line 3.

Ode for Music. Line 2.

Ibid. Chorus. Line 3.

Ibid. V. Line 8.

1 See Cowley, page 261. Milton, page 224.
2 See Shakespeare, page 112. Otway, page 280.
8 See Dryden, page 277.

Iron sleet of arrowy shower
Hurtles in the darken'd air.

The Fatal Sisters. Line 3.

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea,1
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

Elegy in a Country Churchyard. Stanza 1.

Each in his narrow cell forever laid,
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.
The breezy call of incense-breathing morn.
Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile
The short and simple annals of the poor.

Stanza 4.

Stanza 5.

Stanza 8.

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r,

And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike the inevitable hour.

The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

Stanza 9.

Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault, The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.

Can storied urn, or animated bust,

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust,

Stanza 10.

Or flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of death? Stanza 11.

Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd,
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre.

Stanza 12.

But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page,

Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll;'

Chill penury repress'd their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul.

Stanza 13

1 The first edition reads, —

"The lowing herds wind slowly o'er the lea."

See Sir Thomas Browne, page 217.