ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD. (GRAY.) The curfew tolls the knell of parting day! | Now fades the glimm'ring landscape on the sight, | Save, that from yonder ivy-mantled tower, | Beneath those rugged elms'; that yew-tree's shade, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. | The breezy call of incense-breathing morn', | The swallow, twitt'ring from the straw-built shed1, | The cock's shrill cla'rion, or the echoing horn', | No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. | For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, | Or climb his knees', the envied kiss to share. I Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield; | Their furrow, oft the stubborn glebe has broke; | How jocund did they drive their team afield'!| How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke || a Lând'skap; not land'skip. b Hůz'wif. Let not ambition mock their useful toil, | Their homely joys, and destiny obscure'; | Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile', The short, and simple annals of the poor. | The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, The paths of glory, lead, but to the grave,, | Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault,, | Can storied urn, or animated bust', | Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? | Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust, 1 Or flattery, soothe, the dull, cold ear of death? | Perhaps in this neglected spot, is laid' | Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; | But knowledge to their eyes her ample page', Full many a gem of purest ray serene, | The dark, unfathom'd caves of ocean, bear; | Some village Hampden that, with dauntless breast', The applause of list'ning senates to command', And read their hist'ry in a nation's eyes', | Their lot forbade - nor circumscrib'd alone' | The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, | With incense, kindled at the muse's flame. I Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife', | ('Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray',) Along the cool, sequester'd vale of life', | They kept the noiseless tenor of their way,, | Yet e'en these bones, from insult to protect', | Their names', their years', spell'd by the unletter'd muse', For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey', ] This pleasing, anxious being, e'er resign'd', | On some fond breast, the parting soul, relies'; } For thee, who, mindful of the unhonour'd dead', Some kindred spirit, shall inquire thy fate', | Haply some hoary-headed swain may say', | There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech', | Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn', | Or craz❜d with care, or cross'd in hopeless love,. One morn I miss'd him on the accustom'd hill', | Nor up the lawn', I nor at the wood was he. I The next, with dirges due, in sad array', | Slow through the church-yard path, we saw him borne、 Approach, and read' ('for thou canst read) the lay', ] "Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." THE EPITAPH. Here rests his head upon the lap of earth', | |