Sterne.

Shenstone.

351

66

'Disguise thyself as thou wilt, still, Slavery," said I, "still thou art a bitter draught."

Sentimental Journey. The Passport. The Hotel at Paris. The sad vicissitude of things.

Sermon, xvi.1

WILLIAM SHENSTONE. 1714-1763.

Whoe'er has travell'd life's dull round,
Where'er his stages may have been,
May sigh to think he still has found
The warmest welcome at an inn."
Written on a Window of an Inn.

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.

Ibid. Part ii. Hope.

For seldom shall she hear a tale

So sad, so tender, and so true.

Jemmy Dawson.

1 Revolves the sad vicissitudes of things.

R. Gifford, Contemplation.

2 There is nothing which has yet been contrived by man by which so much happiness is produced as by a good tavern or inn. - Johnson, Boswell's Life, 1766.

Archbishop Leighton often said, that if he were to choose a place to die in, it should be an inn. - Works, Vol. i. p. 76.

352 Shenstone.-Graves. - Townley.

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

Pun-provoking thyme.

The Schoolmistress. St. 6.

Ibid. St. II.

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

Ibid. St. 28.

RICHARD GRAVES. 1715-1804.

Each curs'd his fate that thus their project cross'd;

How hard their lot who neither won nor lost. An Incident in High Life. (Appendix of Original Pieces.) From the Festoon. London. 1767.

JAMES TOWNLEY. 1715-1778.

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

Lady Bab. Then you have an immense pleasHigh Life below Stairs. Act ii. Sc. 1.

ure to come.

From humble Port to imperial Tokay.

Ibid.

THOMAS GRAY.

1716-1771.

Ye distant spires, ye antique towers.

On a Distant Prospect of Eton College. Stanza 1. Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade!

Ah, fields belov'd in vain!

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

I feel the gales that from ye blow
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.

Stanza 2.

Stanza 4.

Stanza 5.

Ah, tell them they are men!

Stanza 6.

And moody madness laughing wild

Amid severest woe.

Stanza 8.

To each his sufferings; all are men,

Condemn'd alike to groan,·

The tender for another's pain,

The unfeeling for his own.

Yet, ah! why should they know their fate,
Since sorrow never comes too late,
And happiness too swiftly flies?

Thought would destroy their paradise.
where ignorance is bliss,

No more;

'Tis folly to be wise.1

Stanza 10.

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

Hymn to Adversity.

From Helicon's harmonious springs

A thousand rills their mazy progress take.
The Progress of Poesy. I. 1. Line 3.

Glance their many-twinkling feet. I. 3. Line 11.

O'er her warm cheek, and rising bosom, move The bloom of young Desire and purple light of I. 3. Line 16.

Love.

Her track, where'er the goddess roves,

Glory pursue, and gen'rous shame,

The unconquerable mind, and freedom's holy

flame.2

II. 2. Line 10.

Ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears.

III. I. Line 12.

1 Compare Prior, To the Hon. Charles Montague. He that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow. Ecclesiastes i. 18.

2 Unconquerable mind. Wordsworth, To Toussaint L'Ouverture.

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.

The Progress of Poesy. III. 2.

Line 4.

Bright-eyed Fancy, hovering o'er,

Scatters from her pictured urn

Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.1

III. 3. Line 2.

Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate,

Beneath the Good how far, but far above the

Great.

Ruin seize thee, ruthless King!

III. 3. Line 16.

Confusion on thy banners wait!

Though fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing,

They mock the air with idle state.

The Bard. I. 1. Line 1.

Loose his beard and hoary hair

Stream'd, like a meteor, to the troubled air.2

I. 2. Line 5.

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

I. 2. Line 14.

1 Words that weep and tears that speak.

Cowley, The Prophet.

2 An harmless flaming meteor shone for hair,
And fell adown his shoulders with loose care.
Cowley, Davideis, Book ii. Line 102.

The imperial ensign, which, full high advanced,
Shone like a meteor streaming to the wind.

Milton, Paradise Lost, Book i. Line 536.