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Fair are the gardens of the Aonian mount,
O'er the gay scene th' enamour'd inmates roam:
From Nature's manifold supplies.
Many a gleam of sprightly thought, Many a sad and sable mood, Whether from dazzling lustre brought,
Or nurs'd by shades of darksome wood, Keep death-like silence on their native shore, Since he, that gave them speech, is heard no more.
Flown is the spirit of GRAY
Like common breath to mingle with the air:
In leaves of dusky hue encompass'd round,
The covert hollows of the bosom'd hill:
With liquid voice and magic hand
Hush'd are the warblers of the grove, attentive to
"Soft and slow
"Let the melting measures flow, "Nor lighter air disturb majestic woe.
"And thou, sage Priestess  of our holy fire, "Who saw'st the Poet's flame expire,
"Thy precious drops profusely shed
"O'er his well-deserving head.
"Thou nurtur'dst once a grateful throng,
"When Milton pour'd the sweets of song "On Lycidas funk low .
"Now wake that faithful lyre-mute Dulness "reigns:
"Your echoes waft no more the friendly theme; "Clogg'd with thick vapours from the neighb'ring
"Where old Cam hardly moves his sluggard
"But when some public cause
"Claims festive song, or more melodious tear,
 Cambridge University, where Gray died.
 In 1638 the University published a volume of poems to the memory of Mr. Edward King, Milton's Lycidas.
"Then idly glares full many a motley toy, "Anacreontic grief, and creeping strains of joy.
"Far other modes were thine,
"Whom now the powers of melody deplore;
"Thou bad'st thy train divine
"Of raptures on Pindaric pinions soar:
"Or when thy calm and steadfast mind
"Fond of the look, that loves the ground ; "Discern'd by Reason's equal light,
"How gaudy Fortune cheats the sight;
 See Gray's Pindaric Odes.
 Ode on a distant prospect of Eton College.
"While the coarse maid, inur'd to pain, "Supports the lab'ring heart, and Virtue's happiest "reign.
"But most the music of thy plaintive moan  "With lengthen'd note detains the list'ning ear, "As lost in thought thou wander'st all alone "Where spirits hover round their mansions drear.
"By Contemplation's eye serenely view'd,
"Each lowly object wears an awful mien: " 'Tis our own blindness veils the latent good: "The works of Nature need but to be seen.
"Thou saw'st her beaming from the hamlet-sires "Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade; "Where now, still faithful to their wonted fires , "Thy own dear ashes are for ever laid."
 Church-yard Elegy.
 Gray was buried at Stoke, the scene of the Elegy.