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Marseilles, so to Lyons, so to Paris, so to West, &c.

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Eleven months, at different times, have I passed at Florence; and yet (God help me) know not either people or language. Yet the place and the charming prospects demand a poetical farewell, and here

it is.

**Oh Fæsulæ amæna

Frigoribus juga, nec nimiùm spirantibus auris!
Alma quibus Tusci Pallas decus Apennini
Esse dedit, glaucâque suâ canescere sylvâ!
Non ego vos posthàc Arni de valle videbo

Porticibus circum, & candenti cincta coronâ
Villarum longè nitido consurgere dorso,

Antiquamve dem, et veteres præferre Cupressus
Mirabor, tectisque super pendentia tecta.

I will send you, too, a pretty little Sonnet of a Sig. Abbate Buondelmonte, with my imitation of it.

Spesso Amor sotto la forma
D'amistà ride, e s'asconde:
Poi si mischia, e si confonde
Con lo sdegno, e col rancor.

In Pietade ei si trasforma;

Par trastullo, e par dispetto:
Mà nel suo diverso aspetto

Sempr'egli, è l'istesso Amor.

Lusit amicitiæ interdum velatus amictu,
Et benè composità veste fefellit Amor.
Mox iræ assumsit cultus, faciemque minantem,
Inque odium versus, versus & in lacrymas:
Ludentem fuge, nec lacrymanti, aut crede furenti;
Idem est dissimili semper in ore Deus.

Here comes a letter from you.---I must defer giving my opinion of* Pausanias till I can see the whole, and only have said what I did in obedience to your commands. I have spoken with such freedom on this head, that it seems but just you should have your revenge; and therefore I send you the beginning not of an Epic Poem, but of a Metaphysic one. Poems and Metaphysics (say you, with your spectacles on) are incon

* Some part of a Tragedy under that title, which Mr. West had begun; but I do not find amongst Mr. Gray's papers either the sketch itself, or Mr. Gray's free critique upon it, which he here mentions.

The beginning of the first book of a didactic Poem, "De Principiis Cogitandi." The fragment which he now sent contained the first 53 lines. The reader will find a further account of his design, and all that he finished of the Poem, in a subsequent section.

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sistent things. A metaphysical poem is a contradiction in terms. It is true, but I will go on. It is Latin too to increase the absurdity. It will, I suppose, put you in mind of the man who wrote a treatise of Canon Law in Hexameters. Pray help me to the description of a mixt mode, and a little Episode about Space.

Mr. Walpole and Mr. Gray set out from Florence at the time specified in the foregoing Letter. When Mr. Gray left Venice, which he did the middle of July following, he returned home, through Padua, Verona, Milan, Turin, and Lyons. From all which places he writ either to his Father or Mother with great punctuality but merely to inform them of his health and safety; about which (as might be expected) they were now very anxious, as he travelled with only a 'Laquais de Voyage.' These letters do not even mention that he went out of his way to make a second visit to the Grande Chartreuse, and there wrote in the Album of the Fathers the following Alcacic + Ode, with which I conclude this Section.

*He was at Turin the 15th of August, and began to cross the Alps the next day. On the 25th he reached Lyons; therefore it must have been between these two dates that he made this visit.

We saw in the 8th and 11th letters how much Mr. Gray was struck with the awful scenery which surrounds the Chartreuse, at a time his mind must have been in a far more tranquil state than when he wrote this excellent Ode. It is marked I think, with all

OD E.

Oh Tu, severi Religio loci,

Quocunque gaudes nomine (non leve

Nativa nam certè fluenta

Numen habet, veteresque sylvas;
Præsentiorem & conspicimus Deum
Per invias rupes, fera per juga,
Clivosque præruptos, sonantes

Inter aquas, nemorumque noctem;
Quàm si repòstus sub trabe citreâ
Fulgeret auro, & Phidiacâ manu)
Salve vocanti ritè, fesso et

Da placidam juveni quietem.
Quod si invidendis sedibus, & frui

Fortuna sacrâ lege silentii

Vetat volentem, me resorbens

In medios violenta fluctus:

Saltem remoto des, Pater, angulo

Horas senectæ ducere liberas;

Tutumque vulgari tumultu

Surripias, hominumque curis.

the finest touches of his melancholy Muse, and flows with such an originality of expression, that one can hardly lament he did not honour his own language by making it the vehicle of this noble imagery and pathetic sentiment.

END OF THE SECOND SECTION.

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