CAUSE OF OUR PLEASURE IN BEAUTY. Then tell me, for ye know, Are only pledges of a state sincere, Th' integrity and order of their frame, Accomplish'd. Thus was beauty sent from heaven, In this dark world: for truth and good are one, Or where the seal of undeceitful good, To save your search from folly! Wanting these, And with the glittering of an idiot's toy Did fancy mock your vows. THE SUPERIORITY OF MORAL OVER NATURAL BEAUTY.' Thus doth beauty dwell There most conspicuous, e'en in outward shape, 1 Our poet is exceedingly infelicitous in giving, as an illustration of this fine subject, the historical fact of the assassination of Julius Caesar by Brutus and the rest of the conspirators. In a moral point of view, it was an atrocious murder, utterly unjustifiable; and in a political point of view, it was highly inexpedient. For however unscrupulous Cæsar was in his means to attain power; when obtained, few men have used it with more wisdom or clemency. In every great quality how superior was he to the hollow-hearted, selfish Augustus! The former, for instance, spared Cicero, his enemy, and the main stay of the party of Pompey; the latter sacrificed him, though professedly a friend, to the vengeance of Antony. To that eternal origin, whose power, Through all th' unbounded symmetry of things, This endless mixture of her charms diffused. Mind, mind alone, (bear witness, earth and heaven!) Of beauteous and sublime: here, hand in hand, Look then abroad through nature, to the range When guilt brings down the thunder, call'd aloud For lo! the tyrant prostrate on the dust, TASTE. What then is taste, but these internal powers To each fine impulse? a discerning sense He, mighty Parent! wise and just in all, And due repose, he loiters to behold The sunshine gleaming as through amber clouds, His rude expression and untutor`d airs, Beyond the power of language, will unfold The form of beauty smiling at his heart, How lovely! how commanding! But though Heaven In every breast hath sown these early seeds Of love and admiration, yet in vain, Nor yet will every soil with equal stores His will, obsequious, whether to produce And gentlest beauty. Hence, when lightning fires CONCLUSION. O! blest of Heaven, whom not the languid songs Of luxury, the siren! not the bribes Of sordid wealth, nor all the gaudy spoils Of pageant honor, can seduce to leave Those ever-blooming sweets, which, from the store To charm th' enliven'd soul! What though not all With blooming gold, and blushes like the morn. The setting sun's effulgence, not a strain Within herself this elegance of love, This fair inspired delight: her temper'd powers On nature's form, where, negligent of all The world's foundations; if to these the mind Will be the change, and nobler. Would the forms Of ignorance and rapine, bow her down And rolling waves, the sun's unwearied course, For what th' eternal Maker has ordain'd His energy divine: he tells the heart, He meant, he made us to behold and love What he beholds and loves, the general orb Of life and being; to be great like him, Beneficent and active. Thus the men Whom nature's works can charm, with God himself Hold converse; grow familiar, day by day, With his conceptions, act upon his plan; And form to his the relish of their souls. THOMAS GRAY. 1716-1771. THIS most eminent poet and distinguished scholar was born in London in 1716. After receiving the first portion of his classical education at Eton, he entered the University of Cambridge, where he continued five years; after which he travelled, as companion with Horace Walpole, through France and part of Italy. At Reggio, however, these ill-assorted friends parted in mutual dislike, and Gray proceeded alone to Venice, and there remained only till he was provided with the means of returning to England. As to the cause of the separation, Walpole was afterwards content to bear the blame. "Gray," said he," was too serious a companion for me: he was for antiquities, &c., while I was for perpetual balls and plays; the fault was mine." Two months after his return to England, his father died in embarrassed circumstances, and Gray returned to Cambridge, where he prosecuted his studies, with an ardor and industry seldom equalled, to the end of his life. In 1742 he produced his "Ode to Spring," and in the autumn of the same year he wrote the "Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College," and the Hymn to Adversity;" but he did not publish them till some years after. They were circulated among his friends, who were, of course, delighted with them, and they received from their gifted author touches and re-touches, till they were brought to the perfection in which we now have them. So slow was he in poetical composition, that his next ode, "On the Death of a favorite Cat," was not written till 1747. In 1750 appeared his most celebrated poem, the "Elegy written in a Country Churchyard." Few poems were ever so popular. It soon ran through eleven editions, and has ever since been one of those few, favorite pieces that every one has by heart. In 1757 the office of poet-laureate, made vacant by the death of Cibber, was offered to Gray, but declined. The same year he published his two odes on "The Progress of Poesy," and "The Bard." Though they showed to a still higher degree the power and the genius of the poet, and were felt to be magnificent productions, they were not so popular, because they were less understood. In 1768, the Professorship of History at Cambridge becoming vacant, it was conferred upon our poet, than whom a person of greater and more extensive scholarship could not be found at that time in England. But his habitual indolence in writing unfitted him for the office; for though he retained it till his death, he delivered no lectures. In the spring of 1770 illness overtook him, as he was projecting a tour in Wales; but recovering, he was able to effect the tour in the autumn. But the next year, 1771, on the 24th of July, he was seized with an attack of gout in the stomach, from which, as an hereditary complaint, he had long suffered; and died on the 30th of the same month, in the fifty-fifth year of his age. The life of Gray is one singularly devoid of interest and variety, even for an author. It is the life of a student giving himself up to learning, accounting it as an end itself, and "its own exceeding great reward." He devoted his time almost exclusively to reading: writing was with him an exception, and that, too, a rare one. His life was spent in the acquisition of knowledge. At the time of his death, "he was perhaps the most learned man in Europe. He was equally acquainted with the elegant and profound parts of science, and that not superficially, but thoroughly. He knew every branch of history, both natural and civil; had read all the original historians of England, France, and Italy; and was a great antiquary. Criticism, metaphysics, morals, politics, made a principal part of his plan of study; voyages and travels of all sorts were his favorite amusement: and he had a fine taste in painting, prints, architecture, and gardening." "18 As a poet, though we cannot assent to the enthusiastic encomium of his ardent admirer and biographer, Mr. Matthias, 3 that he is "second to none," 1 He himself prefixed to them a quotation from Pindar, fuvavra ovvsToGI, "vocal to the intelligent alone." From a sketch of his life by the Rev. William Temple. "I am sorry," says the excellent Dr. Beattie, in writing to a friend, "you did not see Mr. Gray on his return: you would have been much pleased with him. Setting aside his merit as a poet, which, however, in my opinion, is greater than any of his contemporaries can boast, in this or any other nation, I found him possessed of the most exact taste, the soundest judgment, and most extensive learning." Works, by T J. Matthias, 2 vols. quarto; 'he best edition. |