где A sister sickens, or a daughter mourns. Still drops some joy from with'ring life away; Till pitying Nature signs the last release, And ids afflicted worth retire to peace. 310 But few there are whom hours like these await, From Lydia's monarch should the search descend, In life's last scene what prodigies surprise 315 Fears of the brave, and follies of the wise! From Marlb'rough's eyes the streams of dotage flow, By day the frolick, and the dance by night; What care, what rules, your heedless charms shall save, 320 325 330 335 340 305 Here Beauty falls betray'd, despis'd, distress'd, And hissing Infamy proclaims the rest. Where then shall Hope and Fear their objects find? Must dull Suspense corrupt the stagnant mind? Must helpless man, in ignorance sedate, Roll darkling down the torrent of his fate? Must no dislike alarm, no wishes rise, No cries invoke the mercies of the skies? Enquirer, cease; petitions yet remain, Which heav'n may hear; nor deem religion vain. But leave to heav'n the measure and the choice; For love, which scarce collective man can fill; 355 360 Counts death kind Nature's signal of retreat : These goods for man the laws of heav'n ordain; 365 These goods he grants, who grants the pow'r to gain; With these celestial Wisdom calms the mind, And makes the happiness she does not find. GRAY. ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD. THE Curfew tolls the knell of parting day, Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tow`r, Of such as, wand'ring near her secret bow'r, Molest her ancient solitary reign. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn, 5 IO 15 20 For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, 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, 25 30 The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Awaits 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, Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust, Or Flatt'ry sooth the dull cold ear of Death? 40 Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 45 Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed, Or wak'd to extasy the living lyre. But Knowledge to their eyes, her ample page Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll; 50 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 desert air. 55 Some village-Hampden, that, with dauntless breast, Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood. 60 Th' applause of list'ning senates to command, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 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, Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, Along the cool sequester'd vale of life 65 70 75 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 rimes and shapeless sculpture deck'd, Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd Muse, And many a holy text around she strews, |