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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,

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ENCOMIUMS.

TO

MR. GRAY, UPON HIS ODES.

By David Garrick, Esq.' REPINE not, Gray, that our weak dazzled eyes

Thy daring heights and brightness shun;
How few can trace the eagle to the skies,

Or, like him, gaze upon the Sun!
Each gentle reader loves the gentle Muse,

That little dares, and little means;
Who humbly sips her learning from Reviews,

Or flutters in the Magazines.

No longer now from Learning's sacred store

Our minds their health and vigour draw; Homer and Pindar are revered no more,

No more the Stagyrite is law.
Though nursed by these, in vain thy Muse appears

To breathe her ardours in our souls;
In vain to sightless eyes and deaden'd ears,
The lightning gleams, the thunder rolls :

From an original MS. in the possession of Isaac Reed, Esq.

Yet droop not, Gray, nor quit thy heaven-born art,
Again thy wondrous powers reveal;
Wake slumbering Virtue in the Briton's heart,
And rouse us to reflect and feel!

With ancient deeds our long-chill'd bosoms fire,
Those deeds that mark Eliza's reign!
Make Britons Greeks again—then strike the lyre,
And Pindar shall not sing in vain.

ODE TO MR. GRAY,

ON THE

BACKWARDNESS OF SPRING, IN THE YEAR 1742.

By Richard West, Esq.

DEAR Gray, that always in my heart
Possessest far the better part,
What mean these sudden blasts that rise
And drive the Zephyrs from the skies?
O join with mine thy tuneful lay,
And invocate the tardy May!

Come, fairest Nymph, resume thy reign!
Bring all the Graces in thy train !
With balmy breath and flowery tread,
Rise from thy soft ambrosial bed;
Where, in elysian slumber bound,
Embowering myrtles veil thee round.

4

Awake, in all thy glories dress'd,
Recall the Zephyrs from the west;
Restore the sun, revive the skies,
At mine and Nature's call, arise!
Great Nature's self upbraids thy stay,
And misses her accustom'd May.

See! all her works demand thy aid;
The labours of Pomona fade;
A plaint is heard from every tree;
Each budding floweret calls for thee;
The birds forget to love and sing ;
With storms alone the forests ring.

Come then, with Pleasure at thy side,
Diffuse thy vernal spirit wide;
Create, where'er thou turn'st thine

eye,
Peace, plenty, love, and harmony;
Till every being share its part,
And heaven and earth be glad at heart.

EPITAPH

ON

MR. GRAY'S MONUMENT,

IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

By Mr. Mason.

No more the Grecian Muse unrival'd reigns,

To Britain let the nations homage pay! She boasts a Homer's fire in Milton's strains,

A Pindar's rapture in the lyre of Gray.

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