In the character of his Elegy I rejoice to concur with the common reader; for by the common sense of readers, uncorrupted with literary prejudices, after all the refinements of subtilty and the dogmatism of learning, must be finally decided all claim to poetical honours. The Church yard' abounds with images which find a mirror in every mind, and with sentiments to which every bosom returns an echo. The four stanzas, beginning Yet even these bones,' are to me original: I have never seen the notions in any other place; yet he that reads them here persuades himself that he has always felt them. Had Gray written often thus, it had been vain to blame, and useless to praise him. ODES. I. ON THE SPRING. Lo! where the rosy-bosom'd Hours, Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech O'er-canopies the glade, Beside some water's rushy brink With me the Muse shall sit, and think (At ease reclined in rustic state) How vain the ardour of the crowd, How low, how little are the proud, How indigent the great! Still is the toiling hand of Care: The panting herds repose: Yet hark, how through the peopled air The busy murmur glows! The insect youth are on the wing, Eager to taste the honied spring, .G And float amid the liquid noon: To Contemplation's sober eye Such is the race of man: And they that creep, and they that fly, Alike the busy and the gay But flutter through life's little day, In fortune's varying colours drest: Brush'd by the hand of rough Mischance, They leave, in dust to rest. Methinks I hear in accents low The sportive kind reply: 'Poor moralist! and what art thou? A solitary fly! Thy joys no glittering female meets, On hasty wings thy youth is flown; II. ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE CAT. Drowned in a Tub of Gold Fishes. "TWAS on a lofty vase's side, |