The Hickman courier. [volume] (Hickman, Ky.) 1859-current, 1908-09-03
GRAY'S ELEGY
BY Thos. Gray
This poeni-one of TIE finest aunifen-pas COM
POSED in a country churh-yard. Read Il.

posed IN a country ehuvh-yard. Read u.
vTJHE curfew tolls the knell of parting day.
JIl The lowing herd winds slowly coy the lea'
The plowman home ward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Now fades the gmm' ring landscape on the sight.
And all the air solemn stiffness holds.
Save where the beetle wheels his dronng flight,
And drowsy tinklings ull the distant folds;
Save, that from yonder ivy-mantled tower,
The mopng owl does to the moon compl'n
or such as, d'ring near her secret bower
Modest her ancient, solitary reign.
Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-trees shade,
Where heaves the turf in many mould ring heap.
Each in his cell forever laid,
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep,
The breezy call OF incense breathing morn,
The swallow, twitt ring from the strawbuit shed,
The cocks shrill clarion or the echong horn,
No shall rouse them from their lowy bed.
For them the blazing hearth shall burn,
Or busy housewife ply her evening care
Nor children run to lisp their sre'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 team aheld
How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke
Let not ambition mock their useful toll,
Their homely j1ys and destiny obscure
Nor grandeur hear, with disdainful smile
The short and simple annals Of the poor
The boast of heradry, 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, we proud, impute to these the fault,
If mem'ry Ger their tomb no trophies raise,
Where through the ongdrawn aisle and freted vault
The pealng anthem swels the note of praise.
Can stored animated bust
Back to It's mansion call the fleeing breathl
Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust,
Or hattery soothe the dull, cold 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 ecstasy the living Tyre.
But knowledge to their eyes her ample page,
Rich with the spoils of time, did nee unroll;
Chill penury repressed their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul.
Full many gem of purest ray serene.
The dark, unathom'd caves of ocean bear;
Full many 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 field vithstood:
Some mute, inglorious Milton here may rest;
Some Cromwell, gutess of his country's blood.
The applause of list'nng senates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
To scatter plenty Ger a smiling land,
And read their hst'ry in nations eyes.
Their lot forbade nor, crcumscribed alone
Their glowing virtues, but their crimes confined
Forbade to wade through slaughter to throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind.
The struggling pangs of conscious truth TO hide,
To quench the bushes OF ingenious shame;
Or heap the shrine Of luxury and pride.
With incense klndled at the muses. flame.
Far from the maddng crowds ignobe strife,
The sober wishes never learn'd to stray;
Along the cool, sequestered vale of life,
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.
Yet cen those bones, from insult to protect,
Some frail memorial still. erected nigh,
With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deckd
lmPores the passing tribute of sigh.
Their names, their years spell by the unetterd muse
The place of fame and elegy supply;
And many a holy text around she strews,
Teaching the rustic morast to die.
For who to dumb forgetfulness pray
This pleasing, anxious being eer resignd;
Left the warm precincts OF the cheerful day,
Nor cast one longing, ling ring look behnd1
On some fond breast the parting soul relies;
Some pious drops the closing eye requires:
Fen from the tomb the voice of nature cries,
Fen in our ashes live their wonted fires
For thee, who, mindful of the unhonor'd dead,
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate
If, chance, by lonely contemplation led,
Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate.
HAPPY some hoary-head swain may say,
"Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn,
Brushing with hasty step, the dews away,
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.
There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech,
That wreathes its old, fantastic roots high
His listess length, at noontide would he stretch
And pore upon the brock that bubbles by.
Hard by yon wood, smiling as in scorn
Mutt ring his hayward fances, he would rove;
Now, Dropping woeful, wan like forlorn,
Or crazed with care. or crossd in hopeless love
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