Notwithstanding the want of originality in some detached passages of this “Elegy,” and the obvious truisms of many of its ideas, it is doubtless the finest poem of its kind in the language, not even excepting the beautiful, and perhaps more pathetic, “Elegy on the Death of Sir John Moore.” The best proof of its popularity is to be found in the immense number of Parodies, Imitations, and Translations to which it has given rise. In dealing with the Parodies the chief difficulty has been to decide which were worthy of preservation. To reprint _all_ the Parodies, in full, is out of the question, yet the omission of any important or noteworthy example would destroy the utility of this Collection as a work of reference, especially in the eyes of the numerous admirers of Thomas Gray. To readers not having access to either of our great public libraries it is the earlier parodies which are the most difficult to refer to, these will therefore be inserted complete, though it must be admitted that the first half dozen will be found rather heavy reading. These will be followed by selections from the most amusing modern parodies, and a few of the best imitations and translations. The earliest parody I can trace of Gray’s “Elegy” is one entitled―― AN EVENING CONTEMPLATION IN A COLLEGE. Being a Parody on the ELEGY IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD. By another Gentleman of Cambridge. LONDON: Printed for R. and J. Dodsley in Pall-mall; and Sold by M. Cooper in Pater-noster Row. 1753. [_Price Sixpence._] ―――― ADVERTISEMENT. _The Author of the excellent_ POEM _on which the following_ PARODY _is built, it is hop’d will forgive this innocent Play upon it; which a sincere admiration of its beauties invited the Parodist to attempt: and if it should be thought there is any merit in this Imitation, it must be attributed in a great measure to his working after so fine an Original._ ―――― AN EVENING CONTEMPLATION IN A COLLEGE. The Curfew tolls the hour of closing gates; With jarring sound the porter turns the key, Then in his dreary mansion slumb’ring waits, And slowly, sternly quits it――tho’ for me. Now shine the spires beneath the paly moon, And thro’ the cloyster Peace and Silence reign; Save where some fidler scrapes a drowsy tune, Or copious bowls inspire a jovial strain: Save that in yonder cobweb-mantled room, Where lies a student in profound repose, Oppress’d with ale, wide-echos thro’ the gloom The droning music of his vocal nose.