Ye distant spires, ye antique towers,
That crown the wat'ry glade,
Where grateful science still adores
Her Henry's holy shade. [1]
And who can ever forget the Bard—
Ruin seize thee, ruthless King!
Confusion on thy banners wait!
Though fann'd by conquests crimson wing,
They mock the air with idle state.
Or the lovely Ode on the Spring.
Lo! where the rosy bosom'd Hours
Fair Venus' train appear,
Disclose the long-expecting flowers,
And wake the purple year!
Or those sublime Odes—On The Progress of Poesy. Awake, Æolian lyre, awake: and the Descent of Odin:
Uprose the king of men with speed,
And saddled strait his coal-black steed:
Down the yawning steep he rode,
That leads to Hela's drear abode.
Who can ever forget the pleasure experienced on the first perusal, and on every subsequent reading of these fascinating productions? They are such as all, imbued with even a moderate degree of taste and feeling, must respond to. But there is another poem of Gray's, less read, perhaps, than these, but which, from its humor and arch playful style, is apt to make a strong and lasting impression on an enthusiastic juvenile mind. It opens so abruptly and oddly, that attention is bespoke from the first line. It is entitled "A Long Story."
In Britain's isle—no matter where—
An ancient pile of building stands:
The Huntingdons and Hattons there
Employed the power of fairy hands
To raise the ceilings fretted height,
Each panel in achievements clothing,
Rich windows, that exclude the light,
And passages, that lead to nothing.
This poem, teeming with quaint humor, contains one hundred and forty-four lines, beside, as it says, "two thousand which are lost!"