by Thomas Gray

Summary

by Thomas Gray,  Ode for Music

“ Lo, Granta waits to lead her blooming band, Not obvious, not obtrusive, she No vulgar praise, no venal incense flings; Nor dares with courtly tongue refined Profane thy inborn royalty of mind: She reveres herself and thee. With modest pride to grace thy youthful brow The laureate wreath, that Cecil wore, she brings, And to thy just, thy gentle hand Submits the fasces of her sway, While spirits blest above and men below Join with glad voice the loud symphonious lay. ”
Source: Wikisource

by Thomas Gray,  Ode for Music

“ All that on Granta's fruitful plain Rich streams of regal bounty poured, And bade these awful fanes and turrets rise, To hail their Fitzroy's festal morning come; And thus they speak in soft accord The liquid language of the skies.
Quartetto
"What is grandeur, what is power? Heavier toil, superior pain. What the bright reward we gain? The grateful memory of the good. Sweet is the breath of vernal shower, The bee's collected treasures sweet, Sweet music's melting fall, but sweeter yet The still small voice of gratitude."
”
Source: Wikisource

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