5 Through every period of my life, And after death, in distant worlds, Through all eternity, to Thee 10 THOMAS GRAY ENGLAND, 1716-1771 Elegy written in a Country Churchyard The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The plowman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, 15 Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds. 20 Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower The moping owl does to the moon complain Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, Molest her ancient solitary reign. ELEGY 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 twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, 17 5 10 Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; How jocund did they drive their team afield! 15 How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 20 Nor you, ye Proud, impute to these the fault, 5 Can storied urn or animated bust 10 Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust, Or Flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of Death? Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire, Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre. But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page 15 Chill Penury repressed their noble rage, 20 Full many a gem of purest ray serene, The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear; Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air. Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast ELEGY Th' applause of listening senates to command, And read their history in a nation's eyes, Their lot forbad: nor circumscribed alone The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, With incense, kindled at the Muse's flame. Far from the Madding crowd's ignoble strife, They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. 19 Yet even those bones from insult to protect Their name, their years, spelt by the unlettered Muse, And many a holy text around she strews That teach the rustic moralist to die. 10 15 20 For who to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er resigned, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind? 5 On some fond breast the parting soul relies, 10 For thee, who, mindful of the unhonored dead, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, "Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn 15 Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. "There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noon-tide would he stretch, 20 And pore upon the brook that babbles by. "Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove; Now drooping, woeful, wan, like one forlorn, Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love. |