Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard Introduction In A Nutshell Thomas Gray invariably plays second fiddle to the more famous eighteenth-century British poet Alexander Pope in the literary history books, which is kind of a bummer, because Gray was a really interesting guy. Sure, he wrote relatively few poems, and of those few, most readers and critics agree that "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard" is far and away the best, but the question is, why did he write so few poems? What was holding him back? How could the guy who wrote the haunting, beautiful "Elegy" also write the relatively stilted and formal "Sonnet on the Death of Richard West" (1775)? There are so many unanswered questions about Thomas Gray! If Shmoop had a time machine, we'd want to transport ourselves back to the late 1700s to try to get the Shmoop scoop on Gray. What made this guy tick? Here's what we do know: his home life wasn't so great. His father went kinda crazy on occasion, and abused his mother.

Not a very happy environment to grow up in! But that's the good thing about being a relatively well-to-do young man in the 1700s: you get sent to boarding school from a very young age, so you get to escape from the yelling and abuse at home. At Eton, Gray met his BFF, Richard West (whose early death inspired the poem, "Sonnet on the Death of Richard West") and he also made friends with Horace Walpole, who grew up to write the totally awesome, completely insane The Castle of Otranto, the novel that practically launched the literary Gothic movement (a.k.a. the literary ancestors of modern horror flicks). But what else do we know about Gray? Not much, really—he wrote a lot of letters, but didn't share much personal gossip. Gray tended to start poems and never finish them, or else he'd finish them but never publish them. He was offered the prestigious post of British Poet Laureate in 1757, but he turned it down. It seems as though he might have lacked confidence in himself as a poet.

He only published the "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard" because, after sending a few copies to his friends for their private enjoyment, some hack publishers got hold of it and tried to print a knock-off version without his permission. (Copyright laws weren't very strict in those days, so they'd have gotten away with it.) And yet the "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard" is hands-down one of the most beautiful poems written in the eighteenth century, and it certainly had a major impact on later writers, especially Romantic-era poets like William Wordsworth, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, and John Keats, among others. The "Elegy" asks us to honor the lives of common, everyday people—not just rich, famous folks. This idea of glorifying mundane, everyday things becomes central to the philosophies of British Romantics. That's part of why Gray's "Elegy" often gets interpreted as a kind of turning point from the more formal poetry of the 18th century, with its emphasis on rich and famous people, to the more loose, free-form poetry of the Romantics, which focused more on everyday folks.

The "Elegy" was probably inspired in part by Gray's sadness at the death of his friend Richard West. It's not just about death, but how people are remembered after they're dead (if that's a theme that interests you, you should check out "Afterwards" by Thomas Hardy). Gray muses about what happens after people die, and in the final stanzas of the poem, he admits his own fear of dying. It's a powerful and evocative poem. Even if the "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard" were the only poem Gray ever wrote, Gray would deserve a place of pride in the literary history books, even alongside heavy hitters like Alexander Pope. Why Should I Care? Ever lost somebody that you cared about? No? Well, then you've probably at least experienced the loss of someone who moved far away. Still no? Well, not to bum you out, but chances are that you will—someday. And when that happens, you might find Thomas Gray 's "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard" to be just what the doctor ordered. Gray's "Elegy" isn't just about death, and it isn't just doom and gloom.

It's about the fear of being forgotten after you're gone. Gray looks at the graves of common folks, and instead of just shrugging and figuring that their lives weren't worth remembering, he takes the time to think about what made them tick. And apparently this poem hit a chord with the eighteenth-century readers. It has been translated into many different languages and reprinted many times, and different lines of the poem have been quoted so often that they almost sound cliché now. So, even if you've never experienced the loss of someone close to you, you should give the "Elegy" a shot. It's a poem that managed to walk that fine line: with its moving meditations on the value of human life—even after death—it's both deeply personal and also universal. Thomas Gray: An Elegy wrote in a Country Churchyard. An Elegy wrote in a Country Churchyard. An Elegy wrote in a Country Churchyard. TEXT BIBLIOGRAPHY INDEXES Thomas Gray's famous Elegy, written in 1750, contains elliptical echoes of Spenser and Milton — and much else in the long and learned tradition of pastoral elegy.

While Gray avoids obvious verbal imitation, there is no mistaking the Spenserian tone of sober melancholy. The Elegy became the single most popular eighteenth-century poem, endlessly reprinted and eventually memorized by millions of schoolchildren. There were over a hundred and fifty imitations and parodies published prior to 1830, and hundreds more poems in which Gray's imagery is variously incorporated into odes, sonnets, narratives, and descriptive poems. The general impact of Gray's Elegy may be seen in the substitution of georgic realism in place of pastoral allegory in the later elegiac tradition, and in the establishment of the "elegiac" quatrain is its characteristic measure. Gray's example was such that in the later eighteenth century quatrains began replace couplets or stanzas in many other forms as well. Gray, rather than Spenser became the immediate model for much elegiac and descriptive poetry treating the theme of mutability, much as Milton became the immediate model for the allegorical ode. The manner and themes of Gray's poem often appear in later romantic Spenserian poems in combination with those of Goldsmith's The Deserted Village and Beattie's The Minstrel .

The Elegy is generally thought to have been inspired by Thomas Parnell 's Night-Piece on Death: "Those Graves, with bending Osier bound, | That nameless heave the crumbled Ground, | Quick to the glancing Thought disclose | Where Toil and Poverty repose" Poems (1722) 153. Thomas Gray to Thomas Wharton: "the stanzas which I now inclose to you have had the misfortune, by Mr. Walpole's fault, to be made still more public [than A Long Story], for which they certainly were never meant; but it is too late to complain. They have been so applauded, it is quite a shame to repeat it: I mean not to be modest; but it is a shame for those who have said such superlative things about them, that I cannot repeat them. I should have been glad that you and two or three more people had liked them, which would have satisfied my ambition on this head amply" 17 December 1750; Poems of Mr. Gray, ed. Mason (1775) 221.

London Advertiser: "The subject of this excellent Performance, is an Evening's Meditation in the Church-Yard of an obscure Village. The Author introduces himself walking over the Graves of the deceased humble Villagers, in a melancholy and contemplative Humour: He cloaths in Words eloquently appropriated and expressive, a Series of Thoughts naturally arising from the Scene, and succeeding to one another: From the Recollection of what the peaceful Inhabitants of the Earth under his Feet once were, and what they might have been, had Opportunities offered, he proceeds to a just Examination, and a consequent Contempt of that Pomp and Splendor which distinguishes the Great: He falls into a Reverie in the Conclusion, in which he gives what he imagines will be the Account of himself, when dead, from the Mouth of some humble Cottager; and concludes with an Epitaph on the Occasion, truly of a Spirit with the rest of the Poem.

It is not too much to say, that this Piece comes nearer the Manner of Milton than any thing that has been published since the Time of that Poet: Whoever will look into the Lycidas of that Author, will not fail to see a striking Likeness, and to own that this Elegy does not suffer in the Comparison. The Poem is full of Imagination, and as full of Sentiment; the Imagery is striking, and just; the Descriptive Part elegantly simple; the Expression concise yet clear, nervous yet smooth, and majestic without Pomp" (5 March 1751). Monthly Review: "The excellence of this little piece amply compensates for its want of quantity" 4 (February 1751) 309. William Shenstone to Lady Luxborough: "I have seen Whitehead's Ode to the Bristol-Spring; which I dont much like; and the Verses in the country Church-yard which (as the Hagley-gardener said of my Grove) I like too well. Pray whose are they?" 24 May 1751; Letters, ed. Williams (1939) 309. Dr.

John Gregory to James Beattie : "His Churchyard Elegy ... he told me, with a good deal of acrimony, owed its popularity entirely to the subject, and that the public would have received it as well if it had been written in prose" 1 January 1766; in Forbes, Life of Beattie (1806) 1:83. Oliver Goldsmith : "This is a very fine poem, but overloaded with epithet. The heroic measure with alternate rhime is very properly adapted to the solemnity of the subject, as is the slowest movement that our language admits of. The latter part of the poem is pathetic and interesting" Beauties of English Poesy (1767) 1:53. Percival Stockdale : "It will be read, and celebrated as long as our language is understood, and as long as mankind retain the sentiments of humanity" An Inquiry into the Nature, and Genuine Laws of Poetry (1778) 99-100.

Samuel Johnson : "In the character of his Elegy I rejoice to concur with the common reader; for by the common sense of readers uncorrupted with literary prejudices, after all the refinements of subtlety and the dogmatism of learning, must be finally decided all claim to poetical honours. The 'Church-yard' abounds with images which find a mirrour in every mind, and with sentiments to which every bosom returns an echo. The four stanzas beginning 'Yet even these bones' are to me original; I have never seen the notions of any other place; yet he that reads them here persuades himself that he has always felt them. Had Gray always written thus it had been vain to blame, and useless to praise him" "Life of Gray" in Lives of the English Poets (1779-81); ed. Hill (1905) 3:441-42.

Isaac D'Israeli : "those lines [in Shenstone's The School-Mistress ] which give so original a view of genius in its infancy, 'A little bench of heedless bishops here, | And there a chancellor in embryo,' &c., were printed in 1742; and I cannot but think that the far-famed stanzas in Gray's Elegy , where he discovers men of genius in peasants, as SHENSTONE has in children, was suggested by this original conception: 'Some mute, inglorious Milton here may rest, | Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood,' is, to me, a congenial thought, with an echoed turn of expression of the lines from the Schoolmistress" " Shenstone's Schoolmistress " in Curiosities of Literature (1791; 1866) 362. Robert Anderson : "The imitations it has produced are innumerable" British Poets (1795) 10:197.

Henry John Todd : "Gray, in his celebrated Elegy, has culled an expression from this Eclogue [ Februarie 201: "But to the roote bent his sturdie stroake"]. Compare the seventh stanza of the Elegy: 'How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy-stroke!'" Works of Spenser (1805) 1:43n. Percival Stockdale : "None of Gray's Poems are so much read; are read with so much attention, and recollection as this elegy. This constant, and almost unavoidable preference, is not to be ascribed to its absolute, and unequalled, excellence; nor indeed, altogether, to the confined, and undistinguishing taste of the reader. In the higher powers, and atchievements of poetry, it is certainly inferiour to the Bard, and to the Progress of Poesy. But it comes peculiarly home to the most interesting affections; to the tender feelings; to the analogous, and endeared sentiments of mankind.

People of all stations, professions, and attainments, are more deeply impressed; and more frequently, and with a more heart-felt pleasure, converse with those objects which they love, than with those which they admire" Lectures on the truly eminent English Poets (1807) 2:617. Universal Magazine: "'Where heaves the turf in many a mouldring heap,' is from Parnell's Night-piece: 'Those graves with bending osier bound, | That nameless heave the crumbled ground'.... 'How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke,' is from Spenser's Februarie : 'But to the wood bent his sturdie strooke'" NS 14 (September 1810) 209.

John Keble : "With regard to the indirect, and, perhaps, more effective, species of sacred poetry, we fear it must be acknowledged, to the shame of the last century, that there is hardly a single specimen of it (excepting, perhaps, Gray's Elegy , and possibly some of the most perfect of Collins's poems), which has obtained any celebrity" Quarterly Review 32 (June 1825) 231. Robert Southey : "Gray's elegy owes much of its popularity to its strain of verse; the strain of thought alone, natural and touching as it is, would never have impressed it upon the hearts of thousands and tens of thousands, unless the diction and metre in which it was embodied had been perfectly in unison with it. Beattie ascribed its general reception to both causes.

'It is a poem,' he says, 'which is universally understood and admired; not only for its poetical beauties, but also, and perhaps chiefly, for its expressing sentiments in which every man thinks himself interested, and which at certain times are familiar to all men.' Neither cause would have sufficed for producing so general and extensive and permanent effect, unless the poem had been, in the full impact of the word, harmonious" Life and Works of Cowper (1835-37) 2:173-74. Walter Savage Landor : " Gray's Elegy will be read as long as any work of Shakespeare, despite its moping owl and the tin-kettle of an epitaph tied to its tail. It is the first poem that ever touched my heart, and it still strikes it now just in the same place. Homer, Shakespeare, Milton, Dante, the four giants who lived before our last Deluge of poetry, have left the ivy growing on the churchyard wall" 1843; in Forster, Landor, a Biography (1869) 570.

John Mitford : "Notwithstanding the general brightness of the poet's reputation, and the consent of the 'chosen few' in the admission of his superior genius, the Elegy was in truth the only one of his poems that was universally popular. The subject of it was attractive; the imagery recommended by its elegance; and the sentiments and reflections were not too deep for the common apprehension.... This was not the case with the Odes. The principals on which they were formed, and the ornaments they required, were less adapted to the public taste and knowledge. They were of too high a flight" Correspondence of Thomas Gray and William Mason , ed. John Mitford (1853) x-xi. Leigh Hunt : "The epitaph is on the author; and never did a man speak of himself with a truth more beautifully combining dignity with humility, a sense of all that he felt worthy and all that he felt weak. We suspect, that the 'cross'd in love' of the previous lines might very well apply to Gray. He had secret griefs of some kind, perhaps of disease, perhaps of sympathy with a good mother, and distress at having a bad father (for such, alas!

was the case); but whatever they were, we may be sure that they were those of a good and kind man. The poem before us is as sweet as if written by Coleridge, and as pious and universal as if religion had uttered it, undisturbed by polemics. It is a quintessence of humanity" Selections from English Authors, in Works (1854) 3:222. Edmund Gosse: "Three of Gray's odes, printed in Dodsley's Miscellany in 1748, introduced his work, though still not his name, to the public, and in the winter of 1749 he continued, and in the summer of 1750 finished, his Elegy in a Country Churchyard. This was anonymously published in the spring of 1751. In 1753 Six Poems by Mr. T. Gray, including, besides those already mentioned, A Long Story, written in 1751, were published as a luxurious folio, with full-page illustrations by Richard Bentley , son of the Master of Trinity.

Many of these poems were identified with the rustic village of Stoke Pogis, in Bucks, where several of Gray's female relations resided, and where his mother died and was buried in 1753" History of Eighteenth-Century Literature (1889) 237. George Birkbeck Hill: "Cradock records (Memoirs, i. 230) that Goldsmith said to him: — 'You are so attached to Hurd, Gray, and Mason, that you think nothing good can proceed but out of that formal school; — now, I'll mend Gray's Elegy by leaving out an idle word in every line. 'The curfew tolls the knell of day, | The lowing herd winds o'er the lea, | The ploughman homeward plods his way, | And—'' 'Enough, enough, I have no ear for more'" Note in Boswell, Life of Johnson (1791); ed. G. B. Hill (1891) 1:467n.

Ralph Straus: "Walpole lost no time in carrying out his friend's request, and his copy was dispatched at once to the Tully's Head. The Elegy was sent immediately to press, but Owen, the proprietor of the Magazine of Magazines, seems to have learned that Dodsley proposed to forestall him, and likewise hurried his own number through the press. His magazine usually appeared during the last few days of the month, but on this occasion it came out on the 16th, a fact of which none of Gray's biographers seem to be aware. It was not soon enough, however, for Dodsley had only the day before issued the poem as a quarto pamphlet. There had been a race, and Dodsley won by a bare twenty-four hours, and so it was on Feb. 15th, not the 16th, as has often been stated, that the Elegy acutally made its first public appearance" Robert Dodsley (1910) 156-57. Eleanor M.

Sickels: "It goes without saying that the greatest eighteenth-century expression of this theme [mutability] is the Elegy in a Country Churchyard by Thomas Gray. As has already been said, this famous poem gathers into itself most of the elements of the earlier melancholy tradition, and adds to them the flavor of Gray's own sensibility and gentle humanity.... This is not to imply that Gray must take sole responsibility for all the churchyard yews, moping owls, and philosophical ruins of the latter half of the century; enough has already been said to guard against such an exaggeration. But it remains true that if it had not been for the famous Elegy, late-eighteenth-century meditations on time, death, and human glory would indubitably have been different in technique and fewer in number" Gloomy Egoist (1932) 92. For lists of imitations, see Northrup's Bibliography of Gray (1917), the supplement by Starr (1952) and W. P.

Jones, "Imitations of Gray's Elegy , 1751-1800" Bulletin of Bibliography 23 (1963) 230-32. A number of the imitators were autodidacts; for an example of a "mute, inglorious Milton" imitating Gray see An Imitation of Gray's Elegy . Written by a Sailor (1806). Among the imitations is Robert Burns 's epitaph on Robert Fergusson . On antecedents, see Amy Louise Reed, The Background of Gray's Elegy (1924); on the reception, see Eleanor Maria Sickels, Gloomy Egoists (1932). The popular parody by John Duncombe , Evening Contemplations in a College, is of some interest; it was frequently reprinted. A Latin translation appears in the Anti-Jacobin Review 20 (May 1805) 443-46, and another in The Albion [New York] 1 (1823) 247.

Christopher Anstey and William Hayward Roberts translated the Elegy into Latin (1762) with some supervision by Gray himself. A German translation appears in The Kaleidoscope [Liverpool] NS 3 (20 May 1823) 372-73, and a French translation in the Morning Post (18 September, 5, 18, 23 October 1827). A Latin translation is reprinted in Censura Literaria 10 (1809) 319-24. The Curfeu tolls the Knell of parting Day, The lowing Herd wind slowly o'er the Lea, The Plow-man 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 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-mantled Tow'r The mopeing Owl does to the Moon complain Of such, as wand'ring near her sacred Bow'r, Molest her ancient solitary Reign.

Beneath those rugged Elms, that Yew-Tree's Shade, Where heaves the Turf in many a mould'ring Heap, 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, Or busy Houswife 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 Team afield! 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 Pow'r, And all that Beauty, all that Wealth e'er gave, Awaits alike th' inevitable Hour. The Paths of Glory lead but to the Grave. Forgive, ye proud, th' involuntary Fault, If Memory to these no Trophies raise, Where thro' the long-drawn Isle and fretted Vault The pealing Anthem swells the Note of Praise. Can storied Urn or animated Bust 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 Some Heart once pregnant with celestial Fire, Hands that the rod of Empire might have sway'd, Or wak'd to Extacy the living Lyre. But Knowledge to their Eyes her ample Page Rich with the Spoils of Time did ne'er unroll; Chill 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 desart 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 Lot forbad: nor circumscrib'd alone Their growing Virtues, but their Crimes confin'd; Forbad to wade through Slaughter to a Throne, And shut the Gates of Mercy on Mankind; 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, Their sober Wishes never learn'd to stray; Along the cool sequester'd Vale of Life They kept the noiseless Tenor of their Way.

Yet ev'n these Bones from Insult to protect Some frail Memorial still erected nigh, With uncouth Rhimes and shapeless Sculpture deck'd, Implores the passing Tribute of a Sigh. Their Name, their Years, spelt by th' unletter'd Muse, The Place of fame and Elegy supply: And many a holy Text around she strews, That teach the rustic Moralist to die. For who to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious Being e'er resign'd, Left the warm Precincts of the chearful Day, Nor cast one longing ling'ring look behind! On some fond Breast the parting Soul relies, Some pious Drops the closing Eye requires; Even from the Tomb the Voice of Nature cries Awake, and faithful to her wonted Fires. For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd Dead, Dost in these lines their artless Tale relate; If chance, by lonely Contemplation led, Some hidden Spirit shall inquire thy Fate, Haply some hoary-headed Swain may say, "Oft have we seen him at the Peep of Dawn Brushing with hasty Steps 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 so high, His listless Length at Noontide wou'd he stretch, And pore upon the Brook that babbles by. "Hard by yon Wood, now smiling as in Scorn, Mutt'ring his wayward Fancies he wou'd rove; Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn, Or craz'd with Care, or cross'd in hopeless Love. "One Morn I miss'd him on the custom'd Hill, Along the Heath and near his fav'rite Tree; Another came; nor yet beside the Rill, Nor up the Lawn, nor at the Wood was he. "The next with Dirges due in sad Array, Slow thro' the Church-way Path we saw him born. Approach and read (for thou can'st read) the Lay, Grav'd on the Stone, beneath yon aged Thorn." THE EPITAPH. Here rests his Head upon the Lap of Earth A Youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown: Fair Science frown'd not on his humble Birth, And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.

Large was his Bounty, and his Soul sincere, Heav'n did a Recompence as largely send: He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a Tear: He gain'd from Heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a Friend. No farther seek his Merits to disclose, Or draw his Frailties from their dread Abode, (There they alike in trembling Hope repose) The Bosom of his Father and his God. [pp. 5-11] 11, [1] pp.; 4to. Reprinted 1751 (4) 12th edition 1771.

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REVIEWS: London Advertiser (5 March 1751); Monthly Review 4 (1751) 309. INDEXES: Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard Summary - eNotes.com Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard Summary Thomas Gray Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard Summary In "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard," the speaker mourns the deaths of all men, particularly the poor. He uses images of nature's life cycles to develop the theme of death, which he says comes for everyone, even the poet. In the churchyard, the speaker meditates on nature and the owls, trees, and cattle he sees. The speaker then considers the deaths of poor men and rich men alike, lamenting that the poor die before they can make a mark on the world. He praises the modesty of the graves in this churchyard. He then imagines how a humble old farmer will see him after his death. Download Study Guide Start Free Trial Start your free trial with eNotes to access more than 30,000 study guides. Get help with any book.

link Link Thomas Gray probably began “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard” about 1746. It was originally a somewhat shorter poem than the version he published in 1751, and some have speculated that the poem may have been occasioned by an actual death, perhaps that of Gray’s friend Richard West in 1742. When Gray designated his work as an elegy, he placed it in a long tradition of meditative poems that focus on human mortality and sometimes reflect specifically on the death of a single person. By setting his meditation in a typical English churchyard with mounds, gravestones, and yew trees, Gray was also following a tradition. Some of the most popular poems in the middle of Gray’s century were set in graveyards and meditated on death. “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard” is cast in four-line stanzas, or quatrains, in which the first line rhymes with the third, the second with the fourth. This abab pattern, at this time associated with elegiac poetry, gives the poem an appropriately stately pace.

The last three stanzas are printed in italic type and given the title “The Epitaph.” In the first three stanzas (lines 1 to 12), Gray sets the scene for his private and quiet meditations. He is far from the city and looking out from a country churchyard at a rural scene, but the sights and sounds of this rural world of men and beasts fade away. Although the scene is beautiful, life is not joyous, and Gray reflects that this day dies just like the one before it, as the plowman plods wearily home. The poet is alone, but he is not tired. The text gives a sense of the vitality of his solitude and of the stillness of the scene by describing the few things that remain to disturb it: the tinkling of the cattle who have returned home, the drone of the beetle, and the sound of an owl from the church tower. This owl—a “moping,” secret, solitary ruler over the churchyard since ancient times—strikes an ominous note and protests that the poet is challenging its reign. With these descriptions, Gray creates the backdrop for his melancholy reflections about eternal truths.

In the next four stanzas (lines 13 to 28), Gray uses the churchyard scene to invoke important images: the strength of the elms, death as symbolized by the graves, and the comfort provided by the yews shading bodies that sleep. The poet begins by reflecting that death for the humble and lower class means a cessation of life’s simple pleasures: waking up to the songs of birds, sharing life with a wife and children, and enjoying hard and productive work. Gray reflects not on the untimely death of young people but on the death that comes after a normal life span. In the next four stanzas (lines 29 to 44), the poet addresses the upper classes—those with ambition, grandeur, power, nobility, and pride—and exhorts them not to mock the poor for their simplicity or for not having elaborate statues on their graveyard memorials. He tells the living upper classes (perhaps the people Gray envisions as his readers) that ultimately it does not matter what glory they achieve or how elaborate a tombstone they will have. They will die just like the poor.

The eight stanzas (lines 45 to 76) that follow provide the central message of the poem: The poor are born with the same natural abilities as members of the upper classes. Who can say what humble people might have accomplished in the great world had they not been constrained by their condition and their innate powers not been frozen by “Chill Penury.” Gray implies that the innocence and beauty of these souls, wasted in their isolated rural environment, and resembling hidden deserts and ocean caves, could have flourished in better circumstances: Full many a gem of purest ray serene,The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear:Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

The churchyard graves may also contain the remains of a person who had the ability to become a great scholar, a generous national leader, or a man who could have been a great poet but is in the end no more than a “mute inglorious Milton.” Gray goes on to speculate, however, that poverty may have prevented some dead men from doing not good but evil; now death has made them (unlike Oliver Cromwell) “guiltless” of shedding blood; they have not been able to slaughter, to refuse mercy, to lie, or to wallow in luxury and pride. Far from the “ignoble strife” of the great world, the village people have led “sober” and “noiseless” lives. Gray implies that, even though the village dead have accomplished nothing in the world, on balance they may be morally superior to their social betters. Gray returns to the churchyard in the next section (lines 77 to 92), remarking on the graves’ simple markers with their badly spelled inscriptions, names, and dates.

Some bear unpolished verses or consoling biblical texts; some are decorated with “shapeless sculpture.” Gray is touched that such grave markers show the humanity these dead people share with all men and women (including, by implication, the famous who took paths of glory). Those who remain can sense that the dead “cast one long lingering look” back on what they were leaving and were comforted by at least one loved one. Gray reflects that the voice of general human nature can be heard crying from these graves. In the last line of this section, Gray reflects that what he has learned will apply to himself and his readers: The “wonted fires” of his life and those of his readers will continue to burn in the ashes of all graves.

This more personal line provides a transition to the next six stanzas (lines 93-116), where it seems (the grammar is confusing) that Gray is addressing himself when he writes: For thee, who mindful of the unhonoured deadDost in these lines their artless tale relate,If chance, by lonely contemplation led,Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate Gray imagines an old farmer, who is described as a “hoary-headed swain,” replying to this question in lines 98 to 116. The farmer’s story describes Gray as a man who does not fit into either of the classes described earlier; he is neither a poor man nor a man of noble achievement. He is a wanderer, a man who vigorously meets the sun at dawn, yet later lies by a favorite tree and gazes listlessly at a brook. He mutters his fancies, resembling a madman or a hopeless lover. He is everything that Gray’s contemporaries thought a poet should be—a man of exquisite sensibility, unfit for the world’s work, meditative, and sad. The farmer recounts that he saw the poet’s funeral procession to a church, presumably the one where the poem is set.

He does not seem to have helped arrange the funeral nor, unlike the reader, can he read the epitaph that concludes the poem (Gray may be indicating that the farmer’s social class is not that of the poet and the reader). Perhaps Gray, in indicating that the poet chose to be buried where people of his class are not usually buried, intended to reinforce that the poem’s theme applies to all humankind. In the three stanzas of the epitaph (lines 117 to 128), Gray speaks of his grave being “upon the lap of Earth” and not inside the church. He accords himself modest praise and justifies his life as worthwhile. Despite his “humble birth,” he was well educated. Although some may consider the poet’s natural melancholy a disadvantage, he himself probably thought it the source of his poetic temperament. Gray describes himself as generous and sincere, for which his reward was not worldly fame or fortune (the “paths of glory”) but heavenly “recompense,” undoubtedly the “friend” mentioned in line 124. The epitaph concludes by telling the reader not to ask more about the poet’s virtues and frailties but to leave him to God.

“Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard” moves from a meditation in a particular place upon the graves of the poor to a reflection on the mortality of all humankind and on some of the benefits of being constrained by poverty. The poem alludes to the wish of all people not to die and to the ways in which each is remembered after death. Gray concludes by imagining his own death and how he hopes to be remembered. If this progression of thought is not entirely logical, it is all the more understandable. One reason for the long popularity of Gray’s elegy lies in the universal chord he managed to strike not only with the thoughts he expressed but, perhaps even more important, with the progression he gave those thoughts. Beyond that, the poem contains some of the most striking lines of English poetry. Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard by Thomas Gray | Poetry Foundation Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard by Thomas Gray Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard Related Poem Content Details The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea, The plowman 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-mantled tow'r The moping owl does to the moon complain Of such, as wand'ring near her secret bow'r, Molest her ancient solitary reign. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap, 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, 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 team afield! 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 pow'r, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Awaits alike th' inevitable hour. The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, If Mem'ry o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where thro' the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or Flatt'ry 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 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 unroll; Chill 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 flow'r 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 lot 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 mankind, 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, Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray; Along the cool sequester'd vale of life They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. Yet ev'n these bones from insult to protect, Some frail memorial still erected nigh, With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd, Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd muse, The place of fame and elegy supply: And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die. For who to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing, ling'ring look behind? On some fond breast the parting soul relies, Some pious drops the closing eye requires; Ev'n from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted fires.

For thee, who mindful of th' unhonour'd Dead Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; If chance, by lonely contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, "Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps 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 so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by. "Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would rove, Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn, Or craz'd with care, or cross'd in hopeless love. "One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill, Along the heath and near his fav'rite tree; Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he; "The next with dirges due in sad array Slow thro' the church-way path we saw him borne.

Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." THE EPITAPH Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown. Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth, And Melancholy mark'd him for her own. Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, Heav'n did a recompense as largely send: He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a tear, He gain'd from Heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a friend. No farther seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose) The bosom of his Father and his God. Thomas Gray – Elegy Written In A Country Churchyard | Genius "Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would rove, Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn, Or craz'd with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.

"One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill, Along the heath and near his fav'rite tree; Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he; "The next with dirges due in sad array Slow thro' the church-way path we saw him borne. Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." (There they alike in trembling hope repose) The bosom of his Father and his God. More on Genius About “Elegy Written In A Country Churchyard” Thomas Gray broods in a graveyard and speculates that his countrymen who lived and died in the fields, working to make ends meet, could potentially have been great men of the world had they been born into a better situation. His poem was a literary sensation on its publication in 1751 and remains frequently quoted to this day. It is likely that Gray wrote the elegy in the churchyard of St Giles, Stoke Poges in Buckinghamshire, a parish of the Church of England. At the time of writing the poem, Gray was visiting his aunt who lived in the village.

Although he died a distance away in Cambridge, Gray was buried in the churchyard at his request next to his mother. Hidden This page is accessible to Verified artists on the song Locked This song has been locked and is considered "done." You need 600 IQ to add annotations to locked songs. "Elegy Written In A Country Churchyard" Track Info Thomas Gray's "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard" | LetterPile Thomas Gray's "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard" Updated on July 27, 2016 Joined: 15 months agoFollowers: 39Articles: 518 0 Commentary Gray's elegy offers a beautiful scene of the country landscape, as the speaker muses upon the life and death of rustic, simple folk in the pastoral setting. Thomas Gray's "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard" features 32 quatrains that naturally separate into eight self-contained movements. The final movement is a lovely epitaph devoted to an unknown country youth. First Movement: "The curfew tolls the knell of parting day" In the opening movement, the speaker describes the serene landscape surrounding the cemetery which he will be visiting.

A herd of cows is moving slowly over the meadow. A farmer is leaving his plowing to head home, "leaving the world to darkness and to" the speaker. It is dusk and the landscape seems to glimmer in the still air. Except for a few complaining beetles and an "moping owl," all is quiet. The speaker approaches the graves of the village "forefathers," who rest beneath "rugged elms." Second Movement: "The breezy call of incense-breathing morn" Those resting forefathers will never again be roused by the noise of the twitter of swallows or the call of the roosters. They will never again be experiencing their home life with "blazing hearth," care of the wives, and interaction with their children. No longer will the land that they cultivated be turned by their plow. No more will the fields be tended by their careful, cheerful hands. Third Movement: "Let not Ambition mock their useful toil" These men were simple folk who did not seek ambition trade and fame. They lived, loved, farmed their land and enjoyed the rustic life.

The speaker wishes to forestall any negative criticism of these simple farmers, as such folk are often looked down upon by city-folk, calling them rubes and provincials. But the speaker makes it clear that no matter how high and mighty the ambitious become, they all end up in the same place as these simple folk because "The paths of glory lead but to the grave." The speaker speculates that among these country folk there might even be those who could have easily performed the tasks of emperors or that of talented lyre playing poets. And perhaps there were those who did harbor such ambitions. Fourth Movement: "But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page" In the fourth movement, the speaker elaborates on his assertion from the third movement. Because these rustic men never became enamored by knowledge of seeking ambitious titles and such, they remained unspoiled by many of the ills of society. They remained like uncultured gems and flowers that were never seen but flourished. There might have been those who could have performed as a Milton or a Cromwell, or who could have served in government, or even conquered lands, thus adding their names to the nation's historical record.

Fifth Movement: "Their lot forbade: nor circumscribed alone" The speaker now concedes that if among these gently folk some dark tendencies prevailed, their way of life precluded their acting upon those evil tendencies. They were "Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne." Because they lived and moved "Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife," they experienced a life wherein, "Their sober wishes never learned to stray." They were, in fact, protected. However, some of the grave markers profess "uncouth rimes and shapeless sculpture." This fact, while not dismaying, does arouse a "sigh" in the passersby. Sixth Movement: "Their name, their years, spelt by the unlettered muse" The speaker has noted that some of the names of the interred have been displayed by the "unlettered," meaning that they are misspelled. But the gravestone also contained many biblical passages which "teach the rustic moralist to die." These "unhonored dead," however, deserve to be honored, at least, by a reverent thought or prayer.

If their history must remain hidden, at least a thought or two sent their way would give them honor as "some kindred Spirit shall inquire" about their lives. Seventh Movement: "Haply some hoary-headed swain may say" In the seventh movement, the speaker composes a likely soliloquy by "some hoary-headed swain," who might share a brief summary of one of the rustic's manner, where he had roamed, how he might behaved, what he might have thought as he made his way through his day. Then the rustic was missed and replaced by another like him.

The imaginary speaker reports that they bore his man "through the church-way path." and the speaker asks his listener to read the song that is engraved on the man's "stone beneath yon aged thorn." Eighth Movement: "The Epitaph" The final three quatrains making up the final movement and titled, "The Epitaph," is dedicated to "A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown." The youth "rests his head upon the lap of earth." He represents the simple country folk who are of "humble birth." He laughed, he cried, and he had a "soul sincere." To honor him, one need only acknowledge his having existed and realize that he now rests upon the "bosom of his father and his God." Advertisement Reading Gray's "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard" © 2016 Linda Sue Grimes

Question: Who wrote "Elegy in a Country Churchyard?
Answer: Thomas Gray