No zephyr fondly sues the mountain's breast, Yet still, e'en here, content can spread a charm, Redress the clime, and all its rage disarm, Though poor the peasant's hut, his feasts though small, He sees his little lot the lot of all; Sees no contiguous palace rear its head, Or drives his venturous ploughshare to the steep; Or seeks the den where snow-tracks mark the way, And drags the struggling savage into day. At night returning, every labour sped, He sits him down, the monarch of a shed; F Thus every good his native wilds impart Imprints the patriot passion on his heart; And e'en those ills that round his mansion rise, Enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies. Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms, And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms: And, as a child, when scaring sounds molest, Cling close and closer to the mother's breast, So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar, But bind him to his native mountains more. PRINCIPAL WRITINGS: - Elegy written in a Country Churchyard. Odes:-The Progress of Poesy; The Bard. -01 Elegy WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD.* THE curfew+ tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. * This refers to the churchyard of Stoke, in Buckinghamshire, in the neighbourhood of which Gray spent much of his early life. It was here the Poet was buried. +CURFEW.-In feudal times the ringing of the bell at eight o'clock was the signal to cover or put out all fires. It means here the decline of the day. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower, The moping owl does to the moon complain Of such as, wand'ring near her secret bower, 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, For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, No children run to lisp their sire's return, Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; How jocund did they drive their team a-field! How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, 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 Flattery 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 waked 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 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 a 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 fields withstood 1; Th' applause of list'ning senates to command, And read their history in a nation's eyes Their lot forbade nor circumscrib'd alone Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined; Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of Mercy on mankind, The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. * HAMPDEN.-A celebrated patriot who lived in the reign of Charles I. He resisted the payment of ship money. MILTON, the Poet, was born in London, A.D., 1608, died 1674. He was Secretary to Cromwell, and wrote in defence of the Commonwealth. CROMWELL, Lord Protector of England. Born A.D. 1599, died A.D. 1658. The Poet Gray clearly means to imply, that, in his opinion, Cromwell was not guiltless, but guilty of his country's blood. |