The new buildings, or, more properly speaking, Palace of Stoke, was begun by Mr. Penn immediately after his return from a long absence in Pennsylvania, and was covered-in in December, 1790. It is scarcely possible to conceive a finer site than that chosen by him for his new mansion, being on a commanding eminence, the windows of the principal front looking over a rich, variegated landscape toward the lofty towers of Windsor Castle, at a distance of four miles, which terminates the view in that direction; whilst about and around the site are abundance of magnificent aged oaks, elms, and beeches.
The poems of Thomas Gray, who was educated at Eton, and resided at Stoke, are perhaps better known, more read, more easily remembered, and more frequently quoted, than those of any other English poet. Where is the person who does not remember with feelings approaching to enthusiasm, the impressions made on his youthful fancy by the enchanting language of the "Elegy written in a Country Church-yard?" Who can ever forget the impressions with which he first read the narrative of the "hoary-headed swain," and the deep emotion felt on perusing the pathetic epitaph, "graved on the stone, beneath yon aged thorn," beginning--
Here rests his head upon the lap of earth. A youth to fortune and to fame unknown: Fair science frowned not on his humble birth. And melancholy marked him for her own.
That exquisite poem contains passages "grav'd" on the hearts of all who ever read it in youth, until they themselves become hoary-headed--and then, perhaps, remembered most.
But it is not the Elegy alone which makes an indelible impression on the youthful reader; equally imperishable are the lines on a distant prospect of Eton College.
Ye distant spires, ye antique towers, That crown the wat'ry glade, Where grateful science still adores Her Henry's holy shade.[1]
Ruin seize thee, ruthless King! Confusion on thy banners wait! Though fann'd by conquests crimson wing, They mock the air with idle state.
Lo! where the rosy bosom'd Hours Fair Venus' train appear, Disclose the long-expecting flowers, And wake the purple year!
Or those sublime Odes--On The Progress of Poesy. Awake, Æolian lyre, awake; and the Descent of Odin: