But, O, how alter'd was its sprightlier tone, When Chearfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, 70 Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, The oak-crowned sisters and their chast-eyed queen,` 75 Peeping from forth their alleys green; Brown Exercise rejoic'd to hear, And Sport leapt up and seiz'd his beechen spear. Last came Joy's ecstatic trial: 80 He, with viny crown advancing, First to the lively pipe his hand addrest, But soon he saw the brisk-awak’ning viol, Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov'd the best; To some unwearied minstrel dancing, While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, Love fram'd with Mirth a gay fantastic round; As if he would the charming air repay, Thy humblest reed could more prevail, Than all which charms this laggard age, 115 GRAY. ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD. THE curfew tolls the knell of parting day, Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r, The moping owl does to the moon complain Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, 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, No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. 5 IO 15 20 Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, 25 Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; How jocund did they drive their team afield! 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. 30 The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike th' inevitable hour. 35 The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye Proud, impute to these the fault, Can storied urn, or animated bust, 40 Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or Flatt'ry sooth the dull cold ear of Death ? Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 45 Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or wak'd to extasy the living lyre. Some village-Hampden, that, with dauntless breast, 60 Th' applause of list'ning senates to command, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, Their lot forbad: nor circumscrib'd alone 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 rhimes and shapeless sculpture deck'd, 80 Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd Muse, And many a holy text around she strews, For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, 85 90 If chance, by lonely Contemplation led, Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, "Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, "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. G 95 100 |