The Country Churchyard.
(GRAY'S Elegy.)

THE curfew tolls the knell of parting day, the lowing herd winds slowly 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 sight, and all the air a solemn stillness holds, save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, or drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds; 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.

beneath those rugged elms, that yewtree's shade, where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, each in his narrow cell for ever laid

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, and the echoing horn, no more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. for them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, or busy housewife ply her evening care, no children run to lisp their sire's return, nor climb his knees the envied kiss to share.

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 bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! let not ambition mock their useful toil,

their homely joys and destiny obscure,

Νεκρόδεγμον Ἕρκος.
(Ecloga Graiana.)

OCCIDVAE luci solitus ualedicit ab aede

clangor; iter mugit flectens grex segne per herbam:
mox ego (namque domum fesso pede pergit arator)
solus ero in tenebris. fallunt sublustria circum
rura oculos, penitusque omnes premit aetheris auras
sancta quies, ni qua tractim, scarabaee, susurrans
orbibus aeriis uolitas, et ouilia longe

tinnitu subigit pigro sopor, aut, ubi turrim
palla nigrans hederae tegit, insociabilis intus
ad lunam increpitat bubo, si forte recessus
arcanos adiens cursu palante uiator
abdita longaeui temerat penetralia regni.

at procul hinc, rigidis ulmis taxoque sub atra,
putris ubi multo distenditur aggere caespes,
longus, in exiguo depostum quemque sepulchro,
somnus habet proauos, agrestia saecula, pagi.
illos non humili potis est excire cubili
nuntius Aurorae Zephyrus spirantis odores,
non quae stramineo sub culmine garrit hirundo,
non alacris galli canor et quae clara resultant
cornua ualle caua. non illis igne caminus
amplius ardebit, non sedula uespere coniunx
instaurabit opus; non nuntia, patre reuerso,
balba domum curret suboles genibusque reposcet
oscula certatim ascensis. at plurima falci
cesserat illorum seges, inuitamque domabant
saepe suis glebam sulcis: ut in arua iugalis
elatis egere animis, quantosque per ictus
subiecere sibi prostratae robora siluae!
nec tibi, quem magnis inuitat Gloria rebus,
illa sit utilium series spernenda laborum,
deliciaeque casarum humiles obscuraque fata;

nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile
the short and simple annals of the poor.
the boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
and all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave
awaits alike the inevitable hour:

the paths of glory lead but to the grave.
nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault,
if memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise,
where thro' the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault
the pealing anthem swells the note of praise.
can storied urn or animated bust

back to their mansion call the fleeting breath?
can honour's voice provoke the silent dust,
or flattery sooth 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
rich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll:
chill penury repressed their noble rage,
and froze the genial current of the soul.
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
the little tyrant of his fields withstood,

some mute inglorious Milton here may rest,
some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood.
the applause of listening senates to command,
the threats of pain and ruin to despise,
to scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,
and read their history in a nation's eyes
their lot forbade: nor circumscribed alone

their growing virtues, but their crimes confined,

nec qui diues opum gemma bibit, incubat ostro, audiat inridens exilia pauperis acta

annalesque breuis. nam siquid stemmata pulchri siquid nummus habet uel forma uel alta potestas, omne manet pariter non exorabilis horae euentus, famaeque subest in fine sepulchrum. nec tamen his uitio uertant inpune superbi, si memor induerit nullis amor ossa tropaeis, · qua tenor alarum longus caelataque tecta multiplicant dias retonantia carmina laudes. inscriptane fugax reuocetur spiritus urna aut simili uitae statua? cineremne cierit postera laus mutum, aut blandi pellacia uersus indocilem Leti frigentis mouerit aurem? forsitan hic teneat neglecto gramine tellus pectora diuinis olim praegnantia flammis, quaeque manus regni poterant attollere fasces aut anima instinctae plusquam mortalia chordis inspirare lyrae. sed numquam euoluerat illis ditatos aeui spoliis Sapientia libros; frigida Paupertas genialis obruit aestus et glacie mentis frenauit nobile flumen: haut aliter radio purissima gemma sereno plurima sub nigris fundaque carentibus antris nascitur oceani; sic flos persaepe fefellit suaue rubens uacuisque auris effudit odorem. hic dormire potest Hampdenus, gloria pagi exiguoque audax agrorum obstare tyranno, hic aliquis Milto mutos ignobilis annos uixerit, hic patrii Cromuellus sanguinis insons. atamen intentos plausum exciuisse senatus, fortunae spreuisse minas stimulosque doloris, per laetas urbes Cererem sparsisse, suaeque in populi uoltu uitae legisse tenorem, talia sors illis renuit sua, nec modo magnas crescere uirtutes uetuit, sed crescere culpas,

forbade to wade thro' slaughter to a throne,
and shut the gates of mercy on mankind,
the struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide,
to quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,
or heap the shrine of luxury and pride
with incense kindled at the muse's flame.
far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife,
their sober wishes never learned to stray:
along the cool sequestered vale of life
they kept the noiseless tenour of their way.
yet even these bones from insult to protect
some frail memorial still erected nigh,

with uncouth rhimes and shapeless sculpture decked, implores the passing tribute of a sigh.

their name, their years spelt by the unlettered muse the place of fame and elegy supply,

and many a holy text around she strews,
that teach the rustic moralist to die.
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?
on some fond breast the parting soul relies,
some pious drops the closing eye requires;
even from the tomb the voice of nature cries,
even in our ashes live their wonted fires.
for thee, who mindful of the unhonoured dead
dost in these lines their artless tale relate,
if chance, by lonely contemplation led,
some kindred spirit shall enquire thy fate,
haply some hoary-headed swain may say
'oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn
brushing with hasty steps the dews away
to meet the sun upon the upland lawn.
there at the foot of yonder nodding beech,