Well tried through many a varying year, Of every friendless name the friend. Yet still he fills affection's eye, When fainting nature call'd for aid, The power of art without the show. In Misery's darkest cavern known, No summons mock'd by chill delay, His virtues walk'd their narrow round, The busy day, the peaceful night, His frame was firm-his powers were bright, Though now his eightieth year was nigh. 452. Then with no fiery throbbing pain, RICHARD JAGO Absence WITH leaden foot Time creeps along While Delia is away: With her, nor plaintive was the song, Ah, envious Pow'r! reverse my doom; Strain ev'ry nerve, stretch ev'ry plume, 1715-1781 453. THOMAS GRAY Elegy written in a Country HE Curfew tolls the knell of parting day, THE 1716-1771 The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea, Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring 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 twitt'ring 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, 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; The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, 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? 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 And froze the genial current of the soul. Full many a gem of purest ray serene Some village Hampden that with dauntless breast Th' applause of list'ning senates to command, 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; Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne. And shut the gates of mercy on mankind, 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. Yet ev'n these bones from insult to protect With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd, 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, For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, On some fond breast the parting soul relies, E'en in our Ashes live their wonted Fires. |