Quotes
Quotes - Gray
Brushing with hasty steps the dews away,
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.
One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill,
Along the heath, and near his fav'rite tree:
Another came; nor yet beside the rill,
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he.
Here rests his head upon the lap of earth,
A youth to fortune and to fame unknown:
Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth,
And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,
Heaven did a recompense as largely send:
He gave to mis'ry (all he had) a tear,
He gained from Heav'n ('t was all he wish'd) a friend.
No further 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.
And weep the more, because I weep in vain.
Rich windows that exclude the light,
And passages that lead to nothing.
The hues of bliss more brightly glow,
Chastised by sabler tints of woe.
The meanest floweret of the vale,
The simplest note that swells the gale,
The common sun, the air, the skies,
To him are opening paradise.
And hie him home, at evening's close,
To sweet repast and calm repose.
From toil he wins his spirits light,
From busy day the peaceful night;
Rich, from the very want of wealth,
In heaven's best treasures, peace and health.
The social smile, the sympathetic tear.
When love could teach a monarch to be wise,
And gospel-light first dawn'd from Bullen's eyes.
Too poor for a bribe, and too proud to importune;
He had not the method of making a fortune.
Now as the Paradisiacal pleasures of the Mahometans consist in playing upon the flute and lying with Houris, be mine to read eternal new romances of Marivaux and Crebillon.
Some bold adventurers disdain The limits of their little reign, And unknown regions date descry.
Thou tamer of the human breast, Whose iron scourge and tort'ring hour The bad affright, afflict the best!
To offer a man unsolicited advice is to presume that he doesn't know what to do or that he can't do it on his own.
Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield: Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke: How jocund did they drive their team a-field! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!
Not all that tempts your wandering eyes And heedless hearts is lawful prize, Not all that glisters gold.
Rich windows that exclude the light, And passages that lead to nothing.
To warm their little loves the birds complain.
Too poor for a bribe, and too proud to importune, He had not the method of making a fortune.
From Helicon's harmonious springs A thousand rills their mazy progress take.
What female heart can gold despise? What cat's averse to fish?
