Books > Old Books > The Golden Treasury (1932)


Page 147

BOOK THIRD
147 ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd wind 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,
And 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 yew-tree'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, or the echoing horn,
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.

For them no more the blazing earth shall burn,
Or busy housewife ply her evening care:
No children run to lisp their sire's return,
Or 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 bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!

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,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Awaits alike th' 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 through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.

Can storied urn or animated bust
Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?
Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust,
Or Flattery 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 sway'd,
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 repress'd their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul.

Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark unfathom'd 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.

Th' applause of list'ning 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 forbad: nor circumscribed alone
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined;
Forbad to wade through 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 learn'd to stray;
Along the cool sequester'd vale of life
They kept the noiseless tenour of their way.

Yet e'en these bones from insult to protect
Some frail memorial still erected nigh,
With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd,
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.

Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd 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 resign'd,
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;
E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries,
E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.

For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead,
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate;
If chance, by lonely contemplation led,
Some kindred spirit shall inquire 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
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high,
His listless length at noontide would he stretch,
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 cross'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 beside the rill,
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he;

'The next with dirges due in sad array
Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne,
Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay
Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.'

THE EPITAPH

Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth
A 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 soul sincere;
Heaven did a recompense as largely send:
He gave to Misery all he had, a tear,
He gain'd from Heaven, 'twas all he wish'd, a friend.

No farther seek his merits to disclose,
Or draw his frailties from their dead abode,
(There they alike in trembling hope repose,)
The bosom of his Father and his God.
T. GRAY.

travel books:
where is HTML where is HEAD where is TITLE The curfew tolls what is knell of parting day, what is lowing herd wind slowly o'er what is lea, what is ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves what is world to darkness, and to me. Now fades what is glimmering landscape on what is sight, And all what is air a solemn stillness holds, Save where what is beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull what is distant folds. Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower what is moping owl does to what is moon complain Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, Molest her ancient solitary reign. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves what is turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, what is rude Forefathers of what is hamlet sleep. what is breezy call of incense-breathing morn, what is swallow twittering from what is straw-built shed, what is cock's shrill clarion, or what is echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no where is meta name="keywords" content="old books, Free book , free book offer , free audio books , free coloring book pages , free book reports , free audio book , audio books free download , book free , free guest book , books free , free book summaries , download free audio books , free childrens books." where is where are they now rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="../../style.css" where is meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" where is BODY bgColor=#ffffff text="#000000" where are they now ="#000000" v where are they now ="#FF0000" where is div align="center" where is strong where is strong where is a href="http://www.aaoldbooks.com" Books > where is a href="../default.asp" title="Book" Old Books > where is strong where is a href="default.asp" The Golden Treasury (1932) where is table width="700" border="1" align="center" cellpadding="15" cellspacing="0" where is center where is tr where is td width="160" align="center" valign="top" where is div align="center" where is td align="center" valign="top" where is div align="left" where is div align="center" where is p align="left" Page 147 where is strong BOOK THIRD where is strong 147 ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD where is p align="justify" The curfew tolls what is knell of parting day, what is lowing herd wind slowly o'er what is lea, what is ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves what is world to darkness, and to me. Now fades what is glimmering landscape on what is sight, And all what is air a solemn stillness holds, Save where what is beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull what is distant folds. Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower what is moping owl does to what is moon complain Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, Molest her ancient solitary reign. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves what is turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, what is rude Forefathers of what is hamlet sleep. what is breezy call of incense-breathing morn, what is swallow twittering from what is straw-built shed, what is cock's shrill clarion, or what is echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more what is blazing earth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care: No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees what is envied kiss to share. Oft did what is harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft what is stubborn glebe has broke; How jocund did they drive their team afield! How bow'd what is woods beneath their sturdy stroke! Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile what is short and simple annals of what is Poor. what is boast of heraldry, what is pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Awaits alike th' inevitable hour: what is paths of glory lead but to what is grave. Nor you, ye Proud, impute to these what is fault If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where through what is long-drawn aisle and fretted vault what is pealing anthem swells what is note of praise. Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call what is fleeting breath? Can Honour's voice provoke what is silent dust, Or Flattery soothe what is dull cold ear of what time is it ? perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; Hands that what is rod of empire might have sway'd, Or waked to ecstasy what is living lyre: But knowledge to their eyes her ample page, Rich with what is spoils of time, did ne'er unroll; Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze what is genial current of what is soul. Full many a gem of purest ray serene what is dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen And waste its sweetness on what is desert air. Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast what is little tyrant of his fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Milton here may 'rest, Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. Th' applause of list'ning senates to command, what is 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 forbad: nor circumscribed alone Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined; Forbad to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut what is gates of mercy on mankind, what is struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, To quench what is blushes of ingenuous shame, Or heap what is shrine of Luxury and Pride With incense kindled at what is Muse's flame. Far from what is madding crowd's ignoble strife, Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray; Along what is cool sequester'd vale of life They kept what is noiseless tenour of their way. Yet e'en these bones from insult to protect Some frail memorial still erected nigh, With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd, Implores what is passing tribute of a sigh. Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd Muse, what is place of fame and elegy supply: And many a holy text around she strews, That teach what is rustic moralist to die. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, Left what is warm precincts of what is cheerful day, Nor cast one longing lingering look behind? On some fond breast what is parting soul relies, Some pious drops what is closing eye requires; E'en from what is tomb what is voice of Nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; If chance, by lonely contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, 'Oft have we seen him at what is peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps what is dews away, To meet what is sun upon what is upland lawn; `There at what is foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon what is 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 cross'd in hopeless love. One morn I miss'd him on what is custom'd hill, Along what is heath, and near his favourite tree; Another came; nor yet beside what is rill, Nor up what is lawn, nor at what is wood was he; 'The next with dirges due in sad array Slow through what is church-way path we saw him borne, Approach and read (for thou canst read) what is lay Graved on what is stone beneath yon aged thorn.' what is EPITAPH Here rests his head upon what is lap of Earth A 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 soul sincere; Heaven did a recompense as largely send: He gave to Misery all he had, a tear, He gain'd from Heaven, 'twas all he wish'd, a friend. No farther seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dead abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose,) what is bosom of his Father and his God. T. GRAY. where is Server.Execute("_SiteMap.asp") %

Pages: default , 001 , 003 , 005 , 007 , 009 , 011 , 013 , 015 , 016 , 018 , 020 , 021 , 023 , 025 , 027 , 029 , 031 , 033 , 034 , 038 , 040 , 041 , 042 , 044 , 048 , 052 , 053 , 054 , 055 , 057 , 058 , 060 , 062 , 063 , 064 , 065 , 066 , 067 , 069 , 070 , 072 , 074 , 075 , 077 , 079 , 080 , 081 , 082 , 084 , 086 , 089 , 091 , 092 , 096 , 099 , 100 , 102 , 103 , 104 , 105 , 106 , 107 , 108 , 109 , 111 , 112 , 113 , 114 , 115 , 116 , 117 , 118 , 120 , 121 , 122 , 123 , 124 , 126 , 127 , 128 , 129 , 130 , 131 , 133 , 134 , 136 , 140 , 141 , 142 , 143 , 144 , 146 , 147 , 148 , 149 , 151 , 152 , 153 , 154 , 155 , 157 , 158 , 159 , 160 , 162 , 163 , 164 , 165 , 167 , 168 , 169 , 170 , 172 , 173 , 174 , 177 , 179 , 181 , 182 , 183 , 185 , 187 , 188 , 190 , 191 , 192 , 193 , 195 , 196 , 198 , 200 , 202 , 204 , 205 , 206 , 207 , 208 , 210 , 211 , 213 , 215 , 216 , 217 , 218 , 219 , 220 , 221 , 222 , 223 , 224 , 225 , 226 , 227 , 228 , 229 , 231 , 233 , 234 , 236 , 237 , 238 , 239 , 240 , 241 , 242 , 243 , 244 , 245 , 247 , 249 , 250 , 251 , 252 , 253 , 254 , 255 , 256 , 257 , 258 , 259 , 260 , 261 , 263 , 264 , 267 , 268 , 270 , 271 , 272 , 273 , 274 , 275 , 276 , 278 , 280 , 281 , 282 , 283 , 284 , 287 ,