The Birmingham age-herald., 1906-01-07

BY THoM. HE curfew tolls the knell of parting
 day, The lowing herd winds slowly OCT
 the lea, The plowman 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 aid solemn stiffness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning And drowsy tinklings ldll the distant folds; Save that from wonder ivy-mantled tower, The moping owl does to the moon com plain Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, Molest her ancient solitary reign. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew- trees shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mold ering heap, Each in his narrow cell forever laid. The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incense-breathin morn, The swallow twittering from the straw built shed. The cocks 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; Nor children run to lisp their sire's re- Or climb his knees the enyied kiss to share oft did the harvest to their sickle yield. Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke: How 1ocund did they drive their team a-fieldl How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy strokel Let not ambition mock their useful toil Their homely joys, and destiny obscure Nor grandeur hear with 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 the fault, If memory OCT thy 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 it's mansion call the fieeting breath? Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust, Or fiattery 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 swayed, Or walked to eostacy the living Tyre. But knowledge to their eyes her ample Rich with the spells of time. did ne'er unroll Chill penury repressed their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear; Full many flower is born to blush un- seen, And waste it's sweetness on the desert air. Some village Hampton that, with daunt- less breast, The little tyrant of his fields withstood Some mute, inglorious Milton, here may rest. Some Cromwell guiltless of his coun- try's blood. % Tn applause of listening senates to com mand. The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty oer 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 And shut the gates of mercy on man. kind. The struggling bangs of conscious truth to hide. To quench the bushes of ingenious shame. Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. Far from the maddng crowds ignoble strife, Their sober wishes never learn to stray; Along the cool. sequestered vale of life, They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. Yet cen these bones from insult to pro- tect. Some frail memorial still erected nigh. With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked. Implores the passing tribute of sigh.