“Now air is hush’d, save where the weak-ey’d bat “With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing, “Or where the beetle winds “His small but sullen horn.” 10. Another version reads; Nor you, ye Proud, impute to these the fault, If Memory o’er their tomb no trophies raise. 11. Burns borrowed an idea from this verse in his epitaph on the monument to Robert Fergusson, the poet:―― No sculptured marble here, nor pompous lay, No storied urn or animated bust. This simple stone directs pale Scotia’s way To pour her sorrows o’er her poet’s dust. 14. This beautiful comparison of the Gem and the Flower seems borrowed (but with added force and elegance) from Dr. Young: “―――― Such blessings Nature pours, “O’erstock’d mankind enjoy but half her stores; “In distant wilds, by human eyes _unseen_, “She rears her _flow’rs_, and spreads her velvet green: “_Pure_ gurgling rills the lonely _desert_ trace, “And _waste_ their music on the savage race.” _Universal Passion, Sat. V._ 15. Mr. Edwards (author of the Canons of Criticism), who, though an old bachelor, like Mr. Gray, was far more attentive to the fair sex, endeavoured to supply what he thought a defect in this Poem, by introducing after this the two following stanzas: Some lovely fair, whose unaffected charms Shone with attraction to herself unknown; Whose beauty might have blest a monarch’s arms, And virtue cast a lustre on the throne: That humble beauty warm’d an honest heart, And cheer’d the labours of a faithful spouse; That virtue form’d, for every decent part, The healthy offspring that adorn’d their house. 18. After this verse, in Mr. Gray’s first MS. of the Poem, were the four following:―― The thoughtless world to Majesty may bow, Exalt the brave, and idolize success; But more to innocence their safety owe, Than Pow’r or Genius e’er conspir’d to bless. And thou who, mindful of th’ unhonour’d Dead, Dost in these notes their artless tale relate, By night and lonely contemplation led To wander in the gloomy walks of fate: Hark! how the sacred calm, that breathes around, Bids every fierce tumultuous passion cease; In still small accents whispering from the ground, A grateful earnest of eternal peace. No more, with reason and thyself at strife, Give anxious cares and endless wishes room; But through the cool sequestred vale of life Pursue the silent tenor of thy doom.