ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD. I. THE curfew tolls the knell of parting day,' The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea; The plowman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. "The knell of parting day,] Squilla di lontano, Che paia 'Igiorno pianger, che si muore. DANTE, Purgat. 1. 8. 1 II. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds; III. Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tower, IV. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turfin many a mould'ring heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. V. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, VI. 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. VII. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield; VIII. 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. IX. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike th' inevitable hour: The path of glory leads but to the grave. X. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the 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. XI. Can storied urn, or animated bust, Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust? Or flattery sooth the dull cold ear of death? XII. 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 ecstacy the living lyre. XIII. But knowledge to their eyes her ample page, |