Thomas Gray Quotes

Any fool may write a most valuable book by chance, if he will only tell us what he heard and saw with veracity.

It has been usual to catch a mouse or two (for form’s sake) in public once a year.

Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate, Beneath the good how far—but far above the great.

Nor second he, that rode sublime Upon the seraph-wings of ecstasy, The secrets of th’abyss to spy. He passed the flaming bounds of place and time: The living throne, the sapphire-blaze, Where angels tremble, while they gaze, He saw; but blasted with excess of light, Closed his eyes in endless night.

Far from the sun and summer-gale, In thy green lap was Nature’s darling laid.

‘Be thine despair and sceptred care; To triumph, and to die, are mine.’ He spoke, and headlong from the mountain’s height Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless night.

In buskined measures move Pale Grief and pleasing Pain, With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast.

Fair laughs the morn and soft the zephyr blows, While proudly riding o’er the azure realm In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes; Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm; Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind’s sway, That, hushed in grim repose, expects his evening prey.

Mighty victor, mighty lord, Low on his funeral couch he lies! No pitying heart, no eye, afford A tear to grace his obsequies.

Weave the warp, and weave the woof, The winding-sheet of Edward’s race. Give ample room, and verge enough The characters of hell to trace.

Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes, Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, Ye died amidst your dying country’s cries.

Cold is Cadwallon’s tongue, That hushed the stormy main.

Loose his beard, and hoary hair Streamed, like a meteor, to the troubled air.

To save thy secret soul from nightly fears.

Ruin seize thee, ruthless King! Confusion on thy banners wait, Tho’ fanned by Conquest’s crimson wing They mock the air with idle state.

No farther seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose) The bosom of his Father and his God.

Here rest his head upon the lap of earth A youth to fortune and to fame unknown. Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth, And Melancholy marked him for her own.

Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.

Mindful of the unhonoured dead.

For who to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e’er resigned, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing ling’ring look behind?