And peaceful floods in silence sleep;
By the sea-flowers that immerge
Their heads around the grotto's verge,
Dependant from the stooping stem;
By each roof-suspended drop,
That lightly lingers on the top,
And hesitates into a gem,
By thy kindred wat'ry gods,

The lakes, the riv'lets, founts and floods,
And all the pow'rs that live unseen
Underneath the liquid green;

Great Amphitrite (for thou canst bind
The storm and regulate the wind')

Hence waft me, fair goddess, oh waft me away,
Secure from the men and the monsters of prey.
Chorus.

Great Amphitrite etc. etc.

He sung

-

V.

The winds are charm'd to sleep,'

Soft stillness steals along the deep,
The tritons and the nereids sigh
In soul-reflecting sympathy,

And all the audience of waters weep;

But Amphitrite her dolphin sends *) the same.
Which erst to Neptune brought the nobly-perjured dame -
Pleas'd to obey, the beauteous monster flies,
And on his scales, as the gilt sun - beams play,
Ten thousand variegated dyes

In copious streams of lustre rise,

Rise o'er the level main and signify his way

And now the joyous bard, in triumph bore, Rides the voluminous wave, and makes the wish d'for shore. Come, ye festive, social throng,

Who sweep the lyre and pour the song,
Your noblest melody employ,

Such as becomes the mouth of joy,

Fabulantur Græci hanc perpetuam Deis virginitatem vovi se: sed cum a Neptuno sollicitaretur ad Atlantem confugisse, ob a Delphino persuasa Neptuno assensit. Lillius Gyraldus.

Bring the sky- aspiring thought,

With bright expression richly wrought,

And hail the muse ascending on her throne

The main at length subdued, and all the world her own. Chorus.

Come, ye festive etc. etc.

VI.

But o'er th' affections too she claims the sway,
Pierces the human heart, and steals the soul away;

And, as attractive sounds move high or low,

Th' obedient ductile passions ebb and flow.
Has any nymph her faithful lover lost,
And in the visions of the night,
And all the day dreams of the light
In sorrow's tempest turbulently tost -
From her cheeks the roses die,
The radiations vanish from her sun-
n-bright eye,
And her breast the throne of love,
Can hardly, hardly, hardly move,
To send th' ambrosial sigh.

But let the skilful bard appear,

And pour the sounds medicinal in her ear;
Sing some sad, some plaintive ditty,
Steept in tears that endless flow,

Melancholy notes of pity,

Notes, that mean a world of woe?

She too shall sympathize, she too shall moan,
And pitying others sorrows sigh away her own,

Chorus.

Sing some sad, some etc. etc.

Arise

VII.

Wake, wake, the kettle-drum prolong,
The swelling trumpet's silver-song,
And let the kindred accents pass
Through the horn's meandring brass.

The patriot muse invites to war,
And mounts Bellona's brazen car;
While harmony, terrific maid!
Appears in martial pomp array'd;
The sword, the target and the lance

She wields, and as she moves, exalts the Pyrrhic dance,
Trembles the earth, resound the skies

Swift o'er the fleet, the camp she flies,

With thunder in her voice and lightning in her eyes.
The gallant warriors engage
With inextinguishable rage,

And hearts unchill'd with fear;
Fame numbers all the chosen bands
Full in the front fair vict'ry stands,
And triumph crowns the rear.

Chorus.

The gallant warriors etc. etc.

VIII.

But hark! the temple's hollow'd roof resounds,
And Purcell) lives along the solemn sounds
Mellifluous, yet, manly too,,

He pours his strains along,

As from the lion Samson slew,

Comes sweetness from the strong.
Not like the soft Italian swains,

He trills the weak ́enervate strains,

Where sense and music are at strife;
His vigorous notes with meaning teem,
With fire, with force explain the theme,
And sings the subject into life.

Attend

he sings Cæcilia matchless dame! "Tis she! 'tis she!

fond to extend her fame.

On the loud chords the notes conspire to stay

And sweetly swell into a long delay,"

And dwell delighted on her name.
Blow on, ye sacred organs, blow
In tones magnificently slow;
Such is the music, such the lays,
Which suit your fair inventress' praise:
While round religious silence reigns,
And loitering winds expect the strains.
Hail majestic mournful measure,

*) Ein, vorzüglich durch seine geistlichen Musiken berühmter Englischer Komponist.

Source of many a pensive pleasure!
Blest pledge of love to mortals giv'n,
As pattern of the rest of heav'n!
And thou, chief honour of the veil,
Hail, harmonious virgin, hail!

When death shall blot out every name
And time shall break the trump of fame,
Angels may listen to thy lute;

Thy pow'r shall last, thy bays shall bloom,
When tongues shall cease, and worlds consume,
And all the tuneful spheres be mute.
Grand Chorus.

When death shall blot etc. etc.

GRA Y.

Biographische und literarische Nachrichten von ihm findet

In

der Leser im ersten Theil dieses Handbuchs, S. 246. der Andersonschen Sammlung nehmen seine Gedichte einige Bogen des 10ten, in der Bellschen Ausgabe einen Theil det 103ten Bandes ein. Die hier mitgetheilten Stücke gehören zu den schönsten, welche die poetische Literatur der Engländer in diesem Fach aufzuweisen hat; nur die Beschränktheit des Raums hielt uns ab, die herrliche pindarische Ode the Progress of Poesy gleichfalls aufzunehmen. Was die Elegy written in a country church-yard betrifft, so existiren von derselben, nach Küttner's Beiträgen 4tes Stück etc., drei Lateinische Übersetzungen. Die eine ist gemeinschaftlich von Dr. Roberts, gegenwärtigem Probst zu Eton, und Ansty gemacht, und in Hexametern; die andere ist in Hexametern und Pentametern, und die dritte von Murphy in lyrischen Versen. Ein gewisser Cooke, ein Fellow zu Cambridge, übersetzte dieselbe glücklich genug in's Griechische. Der genannte Verfasser bemerkt übrigens noch, dafs Gray diese Elegie wahrscheintich auf den Dorfkirchhoff zu Stoke Pogies, drei Meilen von Windsor, wo er sich zuweilen aufhielt, und wo auch seine Mutter begraben liegt, verfertigt habe.

1) ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY

CHURCH-YARD.

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

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds;
Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower,
The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of such as, wandering near her secret bower,
Molest her ancient solitary reign.

Beneath those rugged 'elms, that yew-tree's) shade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap,
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.

The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,
The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed,
The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.
For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
Or busy housewife ply her evening care:
No children run to lisp their sire's return,
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield,
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke;
How jocund did they drive their team afield!
How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!

Let not ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;
Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile,
The short and simple annals of the poor.

*) Auf den Englischen Kirchhöfen pflegt gewöhnlich ein grofser melancholischer Eibenbaum zu stehen. Küttner.