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THE DEATH OF MR. GRAY.
BY A LADY.
WHERE sleeps the Bard who grac’d Museus'
With fragrant trophies by the Muses wove! Shall Gray's cold urn in vain demand the verse, Oh! can his Mafon fail in plaintive love?
No; with the Nine inwrapp'd in social woe,
His lyre unstrung, sad vigil he must keep; With them he mourns, with them his eyes o'erflow, For such a Bard immortal Maids can weep.
Their early pupil in the heav'nly lore
Fancy, obedient to their dread command,
But vain the magic lay, the warbling lyre,
And shall the Bard, whose sympathizing mind
Yes, honour'd shade! the fringed brooks I'll trace, Green rushes culling thy dank grave to strew; With mountain flow'rs I'll deck the hallow'd place, And fence it round with osiers mix'd with yew.
THE TEARS OF GENIUS:
THE MEMORY OF MR. GRAY.
BY J. T
ON Cam's fair banks, where Learning's hal
Majestic rises on the astonished sight,
Where oft the Muse has led the favourite swain, And warm'd his soul with Heaven's inspiring
Beneath the covert of the sylvan shade,
Where deadly cypress, mix'd with mournful yew, Far o'er the vale a gloomy stillness spread, Celestial Genius burst upon the view.
The bloom of youth, the majesty of years,
In her fair hand a silver harp she bore,
Whose magic notes, soft-warbling from the string, Give tranquil joy the breast ne'er knew before, Or raise the soul on rapture's airy wing. By grief impell'd, I heard her heave a sigh, While thus the rapid strain resounded thro' the sky:
Haste, ye sister powers of song,
Sweetly to the voice of love.
Where, indulging mirthful pleasures,
Where your gently-flowing numbers,
For graver strains prepare the plaintive lyre,
Let deep'ning Sorrow's solemn accents roll.
Rack'd by the hand of rude Disease
Behold our fav'rite Poet lies!
The blissful Muse, whose favouring smile
In Transport's radiant garments drest, With darksome grandeur and enfeebl❜d blaze, Sinks in the shades of night, and shuns his eager