ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY
CHURCH-YARD.
HE curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd winds flowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Now fades the glimmering landscape on the fight,
And all the air a folemn, stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his drony flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the diftant folds;
Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r,
The mopeing owl does to the moon complain
Of fuch, as wand'ring near her fecret bow'r,
Moleft her ancient folitary reign,
Beneath thofe rugged elms, that yew-tree's fhade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap,
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
The rude forefathers of the hamlet fleep.
The breezy call of incenfe-breathing Morn,
The swallow twitt'ring from the straw-built shed,
The cock's fhrill clarion, or the echoing horn,
No more fhall rouse them from their lowly bed.
For them no more the blazing hearth fhall burn,
Or busy housewife ply her evening care:
No children run to lifp their fire's return,
Or climb his knees the envied kifs to fhare.
Oft did the harveft to their fickle yield,
Their furrow oft the ftubborn glebe has broke:
How jocund did they drive their team afield !
How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke !!
Let no ambition mock their ufeful toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obfcure;
Nor grandeur hear with a difdainful smile,
The short and fimple annals of the poor..
The boast of heraldry the pomp of pow'r,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Await alike th' inevitable hour,
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Nor you, ye proud, impute to thefe the fault,
If Mem'ry o'er their tomb no trophies raife,
Where thro' the long-drawn ifle, and fretted vault,
The pealing anthem. fwells the note of praise.
Can ftoried urn, or animated bust,
Back to its manfion call the fleeting breath?
Can Honour's voice provoke the filent dust,
Or flatt'ry foothe 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 sway'd,
Or wak'd to ecftacy the living lyre.
But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page
Rich with the spoils of Time did ne'er unroll;
Chill Penury reprefs'd their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul.
Full many a gem of pureft ray ferene
The dark unfathom'd caves of Ocean bear:
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And wafte its sweetness in the defert air.
Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breaft
The little tyrant of his fields withstood;
Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest,
Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood.
Th' applause of lift'ning fenates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to defpise,
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,
And read their history in a nation's
Their lot forbade : nor circumfcrib'd alone
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confin'd:
Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne,
The ftruggling pangs of confcious Truth to hide,
To quench the blushes of ingenuous Shame,
Or heap the fhrine of Luxury and Pride
With incenfe kindled at the Mufe's flame.
Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife,
Their fober wishes never learn'd to ftray;
Along the cool fequefter'd vale of life
They kept the noiseless tenor of their
Yet ev❜n these bones from infult to protect,
Some frail memorial ftill erected nigh,
With uncouth rhimes and shapeless fculpture déck'd,
Implores the paffing tribute of a figh.
Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd Mufe,
The place of fame and elegy supply;
And many a holy text around fhe ftrews,
That teach the ruftic moralist to die..
For who to dumb Forgetfulness a prey,-
This pleafing anxious being e'er refign'd,
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
Nor caft one longing ling'ring look behind?
On fome fond breaft the parting foul relies,
Some pious drops the clofing eye requires ;
Even from the tomb the voice of Nature cries,
Ev'n in our afhes live their wonted fires.
-For thee, who mindful of th' unhonour'd Dead
Doft in these lines their artless tale relate :
If chance, by lonely Contemplation led,
Some kindred Spirit fhall inquire thy fate,
Haply fome hoary-headed fwain may say,
. Oft have we feen him at the peep of dawn,
• Brushing with hafty steps the dew away
To meet the fun upon the upland lawn.
There at the foot of yonder nodding beech,
• That wreathes its old fantastic roots fo high,
• His liftless length at noontide would he stretch,
And pore upon the brook that bubbles by.
Hard by yon wood, now fmiling, as in fcorn,
Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would rove,
Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn,
• Or craz❜d with care, or crofs'd in hopeless love.
One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill, · Along the heath, and near his favourite tree; • Another came; nor yet, befide the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he :
• The next with dirges due in fad array
Slow through the church-way path we faw him borne, Approach and read (for thou canft read) the lay, • Grav'd on the ftone, beneath yon aged thorn.'
HERE refts his head upon the lap of Earth
Youth, to Fortune and to Fame unknown:
Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth,
And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.
Large was his bounty, and his foul fincere,
Heav'n did a recompence as largely fend:
to Mis'ry all he had, a tear,
He gain'd from Heav'n ('twas all he wifb'd) a friend.
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