degree that was considered finical and effeminate. After his return from his travels, he commonly carried a muff, to the no small amusement of the Cambridge students. It is told that he once took it into his head to let his whiskers grow, to counteract the idea of his being less masculine than became the author of The Bard. A wag of the same college bribed one of the scouts to cultivate his whiskers, likewise; and, as he was a large, black-looking fellow, he soon left Gray quite in the back-ground, in this regard. This practical ridicule, with a rough joke, perhaps, from other quarters, soon put Gray out of the conceit of his whiskers, and he sacrificed them at the expense of the manly reputation he was seeking to establish. From the best information, we are inclined to believe that he was as much of a dandy, in his way, as Beau Brummel himself. It is said that a stanza in Beattie's Minstrel was revised in consequence of the undesigned resemblance which it bore to the poet : "Fret not thyself, thou man of modern song, Nor violate the plaster of thy hair, Nor to that dainty coat do aught of wrong," &c. Such was his dislike of appearing old, that nothing could induce him to wear spectacles; but, when his sight became impaired, he sometimes carried an eye-glass. His hand-writing was very delicate and elegant, the work of a crow-quill. In his rooms he was as neat and particular as in his person. His chamber-windows were always ornamented with mignonette, and other fragrant herbs and flowers, in elegant China vases. In his manners he was polished, though shy and reserved; and, in his common intercourse with the world (particularly where he did not take a fancy to his company), fastidious and affected. If he went to a coffee-house, he would tell the waiter, in a lack-a-daisical tone, to hand him "that silly paper book," meaning the Gentleman's Magazine, or, sometimes, the Monthly Review. He was never on horseback. All his life he was remarkably sober and temperate. Horace Walpole said that he was the worst company in the world ; and represents him as dining one day with Lady Ailesbury, when he never opened his lips but once, and then only to say, "Yes, my lady, I believe so." Dr. Beattie mentions that in general company ne was much more silent than one could have wished; and Dr. John son did not hesitate to say that he was a "dull fellow, a very dull fellow." And yet, at times, Gray was not only instructing and fluent in conversation, but pointed and witty. Mr. Cradock, on reliable information, restores to Gray a bon mot that has been attributed to Johnson. A member of the college, particularly obnoxious to the poet, was standing by the fire" in Hall," and observed to him, " Mr. Gray, I have just rode from Newmarket, and was never so cut in my life; the north-west wind was full in my face." Whereupon Gray, turning to a friend, remarked, "I think in that face the north-west wind would have the worst of it." So, when asked what he thought of Garrick's Jubilee Ode, then just published, he replied, "I am easily pleased." He had more wit than humor. The "sportive effusions" which he extemporised in a post-chaise, for the amusement of his friend Dr. Wharton, are sufficiently "unexhilarating." Par exemple: "Here lies Dr. Keene, the good Bishop of Chester, He is said to have been perhaps the most learned man of his age, and certainly the most learned poet since Milton. When his friend Mr. Nicholls expressed astonishment at the extent of his reading, he replied, "Why should you be surprised? for I do nothing else." His acquaintance with the classics was minute and profound. We have seen that he was a laborious student of history, genealogy, antiquities, and natural history. He was versed, indeed, more or less, in every branch of knowledge, except mathematics and theology. His taste in prints and paintings was highly cultivated. He played on the harpsichord and pianoforte, and sometimes sang to his own accompaniments, with taste and feeling. His life was always that of a scholar, and only at intervals that of a poet; but for his fame he is indebted to half-a-dozen little poems, and not at all to the notes and fragments of criticism and commentary that he left in almost every department of human learning. Though his works are so inconsiderable in number and extent, in spite of the cavils of his contemporaries and the damnatory judgment of Dr. Johnson, Gray now holds an undisputed position in the first rank of English poets. His few little pieces have furnished the text for whole volumes of criticism, commentary and annotation. In harmony and power of versification, in vigor and magnificence of diction, he is admitted to be without a superior. Where he deals with familiar sentiments, he makes them his own by his exquisite felicity of expression. Where he appropriates the happy epithets or thoughts of others, he so identifies them with the particular use to which he applies them, that they can never after be severed or successfully reclaimed. The compass of his thought is as remarkable as the condensation of his language; and, as his ideas were all distinct and definite, he exhibits them always in vivid and impressive pictures. Perhaps he only failed to become the first poet of his country by the necessity which his nature imposed upon him of becoming the most consummate artist. ODES. I. ON THE SPRING. Lo! where the rosy-bosomed Hours, The untaught harmony of spring: While, whispering pleasure as they fly, Cool Zephyrs through the clear blue sky Their gathered fragrance fling. Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch Beside some water's rushy brink With me the Muse shall sit, and think (At ease reclined in rustic state) How vain the ardor of the crowd, How indigent the great! Still is the toiling hand of Care; Yet, hark, how through the peopled air To Contemplation's sober eye And they that creep, and they that fly, Alike the Busy and the Gay Methinks I hear, in accents low, Poor moralist! and what art thou? A solitary fly! Thy joys no glittering female meets, We frolic while 't is May. |