In March 1753, his beloved and revered mother died, and he erected
over her dust a monument, with an inscription testifying to the
strength of his filial love and sorrow. In 1755 he finished his "Ode
on the Progress of Poetry," and in the same year began his "Bard." All
his poems, however short, were most laboriously composed, written and
rewritten, subjected, in whole or in part, to the criticism of his
friends, and, according to their verdict, either published, or left
fragments, or consigned to the flames. About this time he begins, in
his letters, to complain of depression of spirits, of severe attacks
of the gout, of sleepless nights, feverish mornings, and heavy days.
He was now, and during the rest of his life, to pay the penalty of a
lettered indolence and studious sloth, of a neglected body and an
over-cultivated mind. The accident, it is said, of seeing a blind
Welsh harper performing on a harp, excited him to finish his "Bard,"
which in MS. appears to have divided the opinion of his friends, as it
still does that of the critics.

In 1758 Gray left Peterhouse, owing to some real or imaginary offence,
and removed to Pembroke Hall, where he was surrounded by his old and
intimate friends. The next year he carried his two Odes to London, as
carefully as if they had been two Epics. Walpole says that he
"snatched them out of Dodsley's hands, and made them 'the first-fruits
of his own press at Strawberry Hill,' where a thousand copies were
printed. When published, they attracted much attention, but did not
gain universal applause. Obscurity was the principal charge brought
against them. Their friends, however, including Warburton, Hurd,
Mason, and Garrick, were vehement in their admiration, and loud in
their encomiums. In this year Colley Cibber, the laureate, died, and
the office was offered to Gray, with the peculiar and highly