« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »
They to their grassy couch, these to their nest
When Adam thus to Eve. Fair consort, th' hour
us of like repose ; since God hath set Labor and rest, as day and night, to men, Successive ; and the timely dew of sleep Now falling, with soft slumb'rous weight inclines Our eyelids. Other creatures all day long Rove idle, unemployed, and less need rest: Man hath his daily work of body or mind Appointed, which declares his dignity, And the regard of Heaven on all his ways : : While other animals inactive range, And of their doings God takes no account. Tomorrow, ere fresh morning streak the east With first approach of light, we must be risen, And at our pleasant labor, to reform Yon flow‘ry arbors, yonder alleys green, Our walk at noon, with branches overgrown, That mock our scant manuring, and require More hands than ours to lop their wanton growth ; Those blossoms also, and those dropping gums, That lie hestrown, unsightly and unsmooth, Ask riddance, if we mean to tread with ease; Meanwhile, as nature wills, night bids us rest.
To whom thus Eve, with perfect beauty adorn'd: My author and disposer ! what thou bidst Unargu'd I cbey ; so God ordains ; God is thy law, thou mine, to know.no more, Is woman's happiest knowledge, and her praise. With thee conversing, I forget all time, All seasons and their change :all please alike. Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, With charm of earliest birds : pleasant the sun, When first on this delightful land he spreads His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit and flower, Glist'ning with dew; fragrant the fertile earth After soft showers; and sweet the coming on Of grateful evening mild ; then silent night, With this her solemo bird, and this fair moon. And these gems of Heaven, her starry train : But neither breath of morn, when she ascends
With charm of earliest birds ; nor rising sun,
Thus, at iheir shady lodge arriv’d, both stood,
And when we seek, as now, thy gift of sleep. X-Elegy written in a County Churchyard.-GRAY.
THE curfew tolls the knell of parting day ; The lowing herds 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 glimm’ring 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 mahtled tower, The moping owl does to the moon complainOf such, as wand'ring near her secret bower, Molest her ancient solitary reign. Beneath these rugged elms, that yewtree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering hean, Each in his narrow cell forever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incepse 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 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 tea.n a field ! 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, Await, alike the inevitable hour : The paths of glory lead-but to the grave. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these a fault, If mem'ry 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 story'd urn, or animated bust, Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust, Or flatt'ry 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 sway'd, Or wak'd to ecstasy the living lyre: But knowledge to their eyes her ample page, Rich with the spoils of time did ne'er enroll; Chili 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 hist’ry in a nation's eyes, Their list forbade; nor circumscrib'd alone, Their growing virtues, but their crimes confin'd; Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on inankind : 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,
Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth,
The bosom of his Father and his God.
She, question d of her birth in trembling accents,