Francis T. Palgrave, ed. (1824–1897). The Golden Treasury. 1875.
Thomas Gray CLIX. Hymn to AdversityD
Thou tamer of the human breast,
Whose iron scourge and torturing hour
The bad affright, afflict the best!
Bound in thy adamantine chain
The proud are taught to taste of pain,
And purple tyrants vainly groan
With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone.
Virtue, his darling child, design’d,
To thee he gave the heavenly birth
And bade to form her infant mind.
Stern, rugged nurse; thy rigid lore
With patience many a year she bore;
What sorrow was, thou bad’st her know,
And from her own she learn’d to melt at others’ woe.
Self-pleasing Folly’s idle brood,
Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy,
And leave us leisure to be good.
Light they disperse, and with them go
The summer friend and flattering foe;
By vain Prosperity received,
To her they vow their truth, and are again believed.
Immersed in rapturous thought profound,
And Melancholy, silent maid,
With leaden eye that loves the ground,
Still on thy solemn steps attend;
Warm Charity, the general friend,
With Justice, to herself severe,
And Pity dropping soft the sadly-pleasing tear.
Dread goddess, lay thy chastening hand!
Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad,
Nor circled with the vengeful band
(As by the impious thou art seen)
With thundering voice and threatening mien,
With screaming Horror’s funeral cry,
Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty;—
Thy milder influence impart,
Thy philosophic train be there
To soften not to wound my heart
The generous spark extinct revive,
Teach me to love and to forgive,
Exact my own defects to scan,
What others are to feel, and know myself a Man.