Collected English Verse — Thomas Gray. b. 1716, d. 1771 (Part 4 of 4)

feather-cinctured chiefs, and dusky loves.
Her track, where’er the Goddess roves,
Glory pursue and generous Shame,
Th’ unconquerable Mind, and Freedom’s holy flame.

Woods, that wave o’er Delphi’s steep,
Isles, that crown th’ Ægean deep,
   Fields, that cool Ilissus laves,
   Or where Mæander’s amber waves
In lingering lab’rinths creep,
   How do your tuneful echoes languish,
   Mute, but to the voice of anguish?
Where each old poetic mountain
   Inspiration breathed around:
Ev’ry shade and hallow’d fountain
   Murmur’d deep a solemn sound:
Till the sad Nine, in Greece’s evil hour,
   Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains.
Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant Power,
   And coward Vice, that revels in her chains.
When Latium had her lofty spirit lost,
They sought, O Albion! next thy sea-encircled coast.

   Far from the sun and summer gale,
In thy green lap was Nature’s darling laid,
What time, where lucid Avon stray’d,
   To Him the mighty mother did unveil
Her awful face: the dauntless child
Stretch’d forth his little arms, and smiled.
This pencil take (she said), whose colours clear
Richly paint the vernal year:
Thine too these golden keys, immortal boy!
This can unlock the gates of joy;
Of horror that, and thrilling fears,
Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears.

   Nor second he, that rode sublime
Upon the seraph-wings of Ecstasy,
The secrets of th’ abyss to spy.
   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.
Behold, where Dryden’s less presumptuous car,
Wide o’er the fields of glory bear
Two coursers of ethereal race,
With necks in thunder clothed, and long-resounding pace.

Hark, his hands the lyre explore!
Bright-eyed Fancy hovering o’er
   Scatters from her pictured urn
Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.
   But ah! ’tis heard no more—
   O Lyre divine! what daring Spirit
   Wakes thee now? Tho’ he inherit
Nor the pride, nor ample pinion,
   That the Theban eagle bear
Sailing with supreme dominion
   Thro’ the azure deep of air:
Yet oft before his infant eyes would run
   Such forms as glitter in the Muse’s ray,
With orient hues, unborrow’d of the Sun:
   Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way
Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate,
Beneath the Good how far—but far above the Great.

468   On Favourite Cat, Drowned in a
                                                Tub of Gold Fishes

’TWAS on a lofty vase’s side,
Where China’s gayest art had dyed
   The azure flowers that blow;
Demurest of the tabby kind,
The pensive Selima reclined,
   Gazed on the lake below.

Her conscious tail her joy declared;
The fair round face, the snowy beard,
   The velvet of her paws,
Her coat, that with the tortoise vies,
Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes,
   She saw; and purr’d applause.
Still had she gazed; but ’midst the tide
Two angel forms were seen to glide,
   The Genii of the stream:
Their scaly armour’s Tyrian hue
Thro’ richest purple to the view
   Betray’d a golden gleam.
The hapless Nymph with wonder saw:
A whisker first and then a claw,
   With many an ardent wish,
She stretch’d in vain to reach the prize.
What female heart can gold despise?
   What Cat’s averse to fish?
Presumptuous Maid! with looks intent
Again she stretch’d, again she bent,
   Nor knew the gulf between.
(Malignant Fate sat by, and smiled.)
The slipp’ry verge her feet beguiled,
   She tumbled headlong in.

Eight times emerging from the flood
She mew’d to ev’ry wat’ry god,
   Some speedy aid to send.
No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr’d:
Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard.
   A Fav’rite has no friend!

From hence, ye Beauties undeceived,
Know, one false step is ne’er retrieved,
   And be with caution bold.
Not all that tempts your wand’ring eyes
And heedless hearts, is lawful prize;
   Nor all that glisters, gold.