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Along the cool sequestered vale of life, They kept the noiseless tenour of their way.

Thomas Gray

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Thomas Gray
Age: 54 †
Born: 1716
Born: December 26
Died: 1771
Died: July 30
Literary Critic
Poet
London
England
Kept
Cool
Along
Way
Life
Sequestered
Noiseless
Vale

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The different steps and degrees of education may be compared to the artificer's operations upon marble it is one thing to dig it out of the quarry, and another to square it, to give it gloss and lustre, call forth every beautiful spot and vein, shape it into a column, or animate it into a statue.
Thomas Gray
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Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul.
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Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre.
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How low, how little are the proud, How indigent the great!
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And truth severe, by fairy fiction drest.
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Her track, where'er the goddess roves, Glory pursue, and gen'rous shame, Th' unconquerable mind, and freedom's holy flame.
Thomas Gray
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E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.
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Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows, While proudly rising o'er the azure realm In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes, Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm.
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Not all that tempts your wandering eyes And heedless hearts, is lawful prize Nor all that glisters gold.
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The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
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Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, With many a foul and midnight murder fed.
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Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes, Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart.
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The applause of list'ning senates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their history in a nation's eyes.
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We frolic while 'tis May.
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When love could teach a monarch to be wise, And gospel-light first dawn'd from Bullen's eyes.
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I shall be but a shrimp of an author.
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The hues of bliss more brightly glow, Chastis'd by sabler tints of woe.
Thomas Gray
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The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Thomas Gray
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Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.
Thomas Gray
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To each his suff'rings: all are men, / Condemn'd alike to groan, / The tender for another's pain / Th' unfeeling for his own.
Thomas Gray