Explore "Tophet" by Thomas Gray on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Thus Etough looked; so grinned the brawling fiend, / While frighted prelates bowed and called him friend; / I saw them bow, and while they wished him dead, / With servile simper nod the mitred head.
Our mother-church, with half-averted sight, / Blushed as she blessed her grisly proselyte; / Hosannas rung through hell's tremendous borders, / And Satan's self had thoughts of taking orders.
Song / Thyrsis, when we parted, swore / Ere the spring he would return --
Ah! what means yon violet flower!
And the buds that deck the thorn!
'Twas the lark that upward sprung!
'Twas the nightingale that sung!
Idle notes! untimely green!
Why this unavailing haste?
Western gales and skies serene / Speak not always winter past.
Cease, my doubts, my fears to move, / Spare the honour of my love.