Part 1 — THE BARD.
Reading edition
I. 1.
"Ruin seize thee, ruthless King! Confusion on thy banners wait; Tho' fanned by Conquest's crimson wing,1 They mock the air with idle state.2 Helm, nor hauberk's3 twisted mail, Nor e'en thy virtues, Tyrant, shall avail To save thy secret soul from nightly fears, From Cambria's4 curse, from Cambria's tears!" Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride Of the first Edward scattered wild dismay, As down the steep of Snowdon's5 shaggy side He wound with toilsome march his long array. Stout Gloster6 stood aghast in speechless trance: "To arms!" cried Mortimer,7 and couched his quivering lance.
I. 2.
On a rock8 whose haughty brow Frowns o'er cold Conway's foaming flood, Robed in the sable garb of woe, With haggard eyes the poet stood, (Loose his beard, and hoary hair Streamed, like a meteor, to the troubled air9) And with a master's hand, and prophet's fire, Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre.10 "Hark, how each giant-oak, and desert cave, Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath! O'er thee, oh King! their hundred arms they wave, Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe; Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day, To high-born Hoel's11 harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay.
I. 3.
"Cold is Cadwallo's tongue, That hushed the stormy main:12 Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed: Mountains, ye mourn in vain Modred, whose magic song Made huge Plinlimmon13 bow his cloud-topt head. On dreary Arvon's shore14 they lie, Smeared with gore, and ghastly pale: Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens sail; The famished eagle15 screams, and passes by. Dear lost companions of my tuneful art, Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes, Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart,16 Ye died amidst your dying country's cries— No more I weep. They do not sleep. On yonder cliffs, a griesly band, I see them sit,17 they linger yet, Avengers of their native land: With me in dreadful harmony they join, And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line.
II. 1.
"Weave the warp, and weave the woof,18 The winding sheet of Edward's race. Give ample room, and verge enough The characters of hell to trace. Mark the year, and mark the night, When Severn shall re-echo with affright The shrieks of death, thro' Berkley's roof that ring, Shrieks of an agonizing king!19 She-wolf of France,20 with unrelenting fangs, That tear'st the bowels of thy mangled mate, From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs The scourge of heaven.21 What terrors round him wait! Amazement in his van, with Flight combined, And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind.
II. 2.
"Mighty victor, mighty lord! Low on his funeral couch he lies!22 No pitying heart, no eye, afford A tear to grace his obsequies. Is the sable warrior23 fled? Thy son is gone. He rests among the dead. The swarm, that in thy noontide beam were born, Gone to salute the rising morn. Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows,24 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.
II. 3.
"Fill high the sparkling bowl, The rich repast prepare; Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast: Close by the regal chair Fell Thirst and Famine scowl25 A baleful smile upon their baffled guest. Heard ye the din of battle26 bray, Lance to lance, and horse to horse? Long years of havoc urge their destined course, And thro' the kindred squadrons mow their way. Ye towers of Julius,27 London's lasting shame, With many a foul and midnight murder fed, Revere his consort's faith, his father's fame, And spare the meek usurper's28 holy head. Above, below, the rose of snow, Twined with her blushing foe,29 we spread: The bristled boar30 in infant-gore Wallows beneath the thorny shade. Now, brothers, bending o'er the accursed loom, Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom.
III. 1.
"Edward,31 lo! to sudden fate (Weave we the woof. The thread is spun.) Half of thy heart32 we consecrate. (The web is wove. The work is done.) Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn Leave me unblessed, unpitied, here to mourn: In yon bright track, that fires the western skies, They melt, they vanish from my eyes. But oh! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height Descending slow their glittering skirts unroll? Visions of glory, spare my aching sight!33 Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul! No more our long-lost Arthur we bewail. All hail, ye genuine kings, Britannia's issue, hail!
III. 2.
"Girt with many a baron bold Sublime their starry fronts they rear; And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old In bearded majesty, appear. In the midst a form divine!34 Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line; Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face,35 Attempered sweet to virgin-grace. What strings symphonious tremble in the air, What strains of vocal transport round her play. Hear from the grave, great Taliessin,36 hear; They breathe a soul to animate thy clay. Bright Rapture calls, and soaring as she sings, Waves in the eye of heaven her many-colored wings.
III. 3.
"The verse adorn again Fierce War, and faithful Love,37 And Truth severe, by fairy Fiction drest. In buskined measures38 move Pale Grief, and pleasing Pain, With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast. A voice, as of the cherub-choir, Gales from blooming Eden bear; And distant warblings lessen on my ear, That lost in long futurity expire. Fond,39 impious man, think'st thou yon sanguine cloud, Raised by thy breath, has quenched the orb of day? To-morrow he repairs40 the golden flood, And warms the nations with redoubled ray. Enough for me; with joy I see The different doom our fates assign. 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.
NOTES.
This poem was published in 1757. "It is founded," says Gray, "on a tradition current in Wales that Edward I., when he completed the conquest of that country, ordered all the bards that fell into his hands to be put to death." The argument is as follows: "The army of Edward I., as they march through a deep valley, and approach Mount Snowdon, are suddenly stopped by the appearance of a venerable figure seated on the summit of an inaccessible rock, who, with a voice more than human, reproaches the king with all the desolation and misery which he had brought on his country; foretells the misfortunes of the Norman race, and with prophetic spirit declares that all his cruelty shall never extinguish the noble ardor of poetic genius in this island; and that men shall never be wanting to celebrate true virtue and valor in immortal strains, to expose vice and infamous pleasure, and boldly censure tyranny and oppression. His song ended, he precipitates himself from the mountain, and is swallowed up by the river that rolls at its feet."
The tradition upon which the poem is said to be founded, if it ever had any existence, is in great part mythical. Edward I. did indeed conquer Wales, but there is no evidence that he massacred or even persecuted the Welsh bards. A hundred years after his time their number and influence had not been diminished.
This poem is a good example of an English ode constructed strictly after Greek models. It will be observed that it is written, not in uniform stanzas, but in three uniform parts, each of which contains three stanzas. The first of these parts is called the Strophe, or Turn; the second, the Antistrophe, or Counter-turn; the third, the Epode, or After-song. The origin of these terms may be traced to the use of the ode as an important part of the entertainment presented in the ancient Greek theatre. The Strophe was sung while the chorus moved from one side of the orchestra to the other; the Antistrophe while the reversed movement was being made; and the Epodos after the singers had returned to their original position. The accurate perception of harmony and the relationship between the different parts of the choral ode, which enabled the Greeks to enter thoroughly into its enjoyment, is unknown among moderns. Hence, there have been but few attempts in the English language to construct odes strictly after the Greek model. Most of our odes are poems relating to themes of greater or less varying length, and divided into many irregular stanzas of varying lengths and metres. Such are Dryden's "Alexander's Feast," Keats's "Ode to a Nightingale," and Wordsworth's "Ode on the Intimations of Immortality," all of which are odes in form and style, although differing from their Greek prototype and from one another. Of all English poets, none have worked so thoroughly on the ancient model as Gray, although to Congreve must be given the honor of being the first to attempt this species of English composition.
"Mocking the air with colors idly spread."
shaggy. See "Lycidas," 54:
"Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high."
"The rude sea grew civil at her song, And certain stars shot madly from their spheres, To hear the sea-maid's music."
—Midsummer Night's Dream, Act ii, sc. 1.
"As dear to me as are the ruddy drops That visit my sad heart."
—Julius Cæsar, Act ii, sc. 1.
"On the steep Where your old bards, the Druids lie."
griesly. Grisly. From the A.-S. grisli, dreadful.
"Glittering lances are the loom, Where the dusky warp we strain,— Shafts for shuttles, dipt in gore, Shoot the trembling cords along; Swords that once a monarch bore, Keep the tissue close and strong."
—The Fatal Sisters, translated by Gray, from the Norse.
"She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of France."
—3 Henry VI., Act i, sc. 4.
bray. From Gr. bracho, to clash.
"In the sty of the most deadly boar."
—Richard III., Act iv, sc. 5.
"The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar That spoiled your summer fields and fruitful vines, Swills your warm blood like wash."
—Ibid. Act v, sc. 2.
Tennyson, in the "Dream of Fair Women," speaks of Queen Eleanor as
"Her who knew that Love can vanquish Death, Who kneeling, with one arm about her king, Drew forth the poison with her balmy breath, Sweet as new buds in spring."
"Fierce warres and faithful love shall moralize my song."
"Sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head."
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE.
Thomas Gray was born in Cornhill, London, December 26th, 1716. Through the help of his mother's brother, who was Assistant-Master at that famous school, he received his primary education at Eton, and in 1735 entered St. Peter's College, Cambridge. In 1738 he left the University without taking a degree, intending to study law at the Inner Temple. Soon afterwards, however, he accompanied Horace Walpole on a tour through France and Italy, and spent the greater part of two years in Paris, Rome, and Florence. Upon his return to England, finding himself possessed of a life-long competency, he resolved to give up the law and devote himself entirely to self-culture. He settled at Cambridge, and gave all his time to study and to the cultivation of his mind. The first of his poems to appear in print was the "Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College," published in 1747. His "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard" was not published until 1750, although it had been written and handed about in manuscript several years before. The post of Poet-Laureate was offered him in 1757, on the death of Colley Cibber; but he did not accept it. In 1768 he was appointed Professor of Modern History at Cambridge, but the state of his health was such that he was never permitted to lecture. He died, July 29th, 1771, at the age of fifty-four.
"He was certainly the most accomplished man of his time," says Hales, "and was something much more than accomplished. His learning was not only wide but deep; his taste, if perhaps too fastidious, was pure and thorough; his genius was of no mean degree or order; his affections were of the truest and sincerest. . . . His poems are works of refinement rather than of passion; but yet they are inspired with genuine sentiment. They are no doubt extremely artificial in form; the weight of their author's reading somewhat depresses their originality; he can with difficulty escape from his books to himself; but yet there is in him a genuine poetical spirit. His poetry, however elaborated, is sincere and truthful. If the exterior is what Horace might have called over-filed and polished, the thought is mostly of the simplest and naturalest."
Matthew Arnold says: "Gray's production was scanty, and scanty it could not but be. Even what he produced was not always pure in diction, true in evolution. Still, with whatever drawbacks, he is alone or almost alone in his age. Gray said himself that the style he aimed at was 'extreme conciseness of expression, yet pure, perspicuous, and musical.' Compared, not with the work of the great masters of the golden ages of poetry, but with the poetry of his own contemporaries in general, Gray may be said to have reached, in his style, the excellence at which he aimed."
Cowper writes, "I have been reading Gray's works, and think him the only poet since Shakespeare entitled to the character of sublime."
Lowell says: "Gray, if we may believe the commentators, has not an idea, scarcely an epithet, that he can call his own, and yet he is, in the best sense, one of the classics of English literature."
And Sir James Mackintosh says: "Of all English poets he was the most finished artist. He attained the highest degree of splendor of which poetic style seemed to be capable. It may be added that he deserves the comparatively trifling praise of having been the most learned poet since Milton."
Other Poems to be Read: Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard; On a Distant Prospect of Eton College; The Progress of Poesy; Ode on Spring.
References: Johnson's Lives of English Poets; Gray (English Men of Letters), by Edmund Gosse; Hazlitt's Lectures on the English Poets; Roscoe's Essays.