Quote

Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade! Ah, fields beloved in vain! Where once my careless childhood stray'd, A stranger yet to pain! I feel the gales that from ye blow A momentary bliss bestow.

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
Feel
Vain
Gale
Feels
Stranger
Momentary
Blow
Pleasing
Childhood
Careless
Fields
Shade
Happiness
Bliss
Gales
Happy
Hills
Stray
Pain
Beloved
Bestow

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To Contemplation's sober eye. / Such is the race of Man.
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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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Can storied urn, or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or Flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of Death?
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Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!
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For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing ling'ring look behind?
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How low, how little are the proud, How indigent the great!
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Sweet is the breath of vernal shower,/ The bee's collected treasure sweet,/ Sweet music's melting fall, but sweeter yet/ The still small voice of gratitude.
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Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor.
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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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To each his suff'rings: all are men, / Condemn'd alike to groan, / The tender for another's pain / Th' unfeeling for his own.
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But knowledge to their eyes her ample page Rich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll Chill Penury repressed their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul.
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Scatter plenty o'er a smiling land.
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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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And truth severe, by fairy fiction drest.
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The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
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One principal characteristic of vice in the present age is the contempt of fame.
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T'was Spring, t'was Summer, all was gay Now Autumn bears a cloud brow The flowers of Spring are swept way And Summer fruits desert the bough
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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.
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Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul.
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Thought would destroy their paradise.
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