ELEGY

WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD.1
THE Curfew2 tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea,3
The ploughman 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,5
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds;

Save, that from yonder ivy-mantled tower,
The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of such as, wandering near her secret bower,6
Molest her ancient, solitary reign.

Beneath those rugged elms,7 that yew-tree's shade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap,
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.

(1) This well-known poem is perhaps unequalled for the skill with which the pathetic and the picturesque are combined, to excite our interest in the "simple annals of the poor." The language, too, is eminently tasteful and expressive, and furnishes a rich store of those apt quotations which-like snatches of some favourite air-touch the heart with a momentary, yet most exquisite pleasure. The "country churchyard" is said to be that of Stoke Pogeis, in Buckinghamshire, the scenery in and around which harmonizes well with that described in the poem. Gray spent much of his early life in the neighbourhood of this village, and here too he was buried.

(2) Curfew-the "curfew" here simply means any bell-time indefinitesounding in the evening, and fancifully considered as announcing the death of the day.

(3) Lea-from the Anglo-Saxon leag, laid land-land that lies untilled-a meadow or pasture. Lea is connected with ley, leigh, and legh, which are found in proper names, as Elmsley, Stoneleigh, &c.

(4) Darkness-not absolute darkness, but the shade of evening in contrast with the brightness of day. If taken strictly, it would be inconsistent with "fades " and "glimmering" in the second stanza, and "moon" in the third.

(5) Holds-i. e. the stillness holds or fills all the air.

(6) Bower-from the Anglo-Saxon bur, a retired apartment-any place of retirement; hence a lady's bower is her own private room.

(7) Beneath, &c.-With this stanza, after the prelude of the three preceding, which are purely descriptive, that human interest is infused into the poem, which pervades it henceforth to its close.

The breezy call' of incense-breathing morn,

The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed,2
The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,

No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.3

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 kiss5 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 bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!

[The thoughtless world to majesty may bow,
Exalt the brave, and idolize success;

But more to innocence their safety owe,

Than power or genius e'er conspired to bless.]

(1) Breezy call, &c.-A beautiful stanza, though perhaps slightly marred by the echoing sounds of" breezy" and "breathing." A similar fault occurs in the last stanza, "heaves" and "heap."

(2) The straw-built shed-i. e. the shed or shade formed by the projecting thatch. (3) Lowly bed-of course the actual bed is meant, but the expression has been mistaken for the bed of death, the grave.

(4) Run-run home to tell the news.

(5) Envied kiss, &c.-It is impossible not to quote here the beautiful lines of Lucretius (iv. 907), which probably suggested the above passage:

"At jam non domus accipiet te læta, neque uxor

Optima, nec dulces occurrent oscula nati
Præripere!"

How pretty is "oscula præripere," to snatch the first kiss!

(6) Oft did, &c.-Each line of this stanza aptly describes a class of agricultural labourers-the reapers, the ploughmen, &c.

(7) The thoughtless, &c.—This and the other stanzas enclosed in brackets are taken from the early editions, or from the MS. left by Gray. They are much too beautiful to be either lost or banished, and the present editor has therefore ventured to find a place for them.

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 these1 the fault,
If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise,
Where, through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault,
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.

Can storied2 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 unrol:

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:

(1) Impute to these, &c.-i. e. do not suppose that these poor men do not deserve "trophies" as well as you.

(2) Storied-embossed with figures, or bearing an inscription relating to the story or history of the deceased. Milton, in "Il Penseroso," (see p. 316) has,"And storied windows, richly dight,

Casting a dim religious light."

(3) Provoke-from the Latin provoco, I challenge or call forth; here, call back again to life.

(4) Rich with, &c.-containing the riches which time, like a conqueror, has gathered together. A noble expression!

(5) Rage-ardour, enthusiasm. This use of the word was once common. Thus Pope writes:

"So just thy skill, so regular my rage."

(6) Dr. Thomas Brown considers the reference to " gems" of the ocean inconsistent with the other illustrations of the poem, which are all drawn with great taste from rural scenes and circumstances.

Full many a flower1 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.

The applause of listening senates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,

And read their history2 in a nation's eyes,

Their lot forbade: nor circumscribed 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 pangs3 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 learned to stray;
Along the cool sequestered vale of life

They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.

[Hark! how the sacred calm that breathes around
Bids every fierce' tumultuous passion cease;
In still small accents whispering from the ground
A grateful earnest of eternal peace.]

(1) Many a flower, &c.-Every word here seems the choicest possible, and the conception so beautiful in itself, thus appears invested with a double charm.

(2) Read their history, &c.-Remarkable for the fulness of meaning condensed into a few words.

(3) The struggling pangs, &c.-It has been justly observed that this stanza rather weakens than increases the interest excited by the last, and comes in laggingly after that sonorous couplet, "Forbade to wade, &c," which certainly ought to have closed the passage. The sense is-Their lot forbade their learning those mean arts by which men rise, as it is called, in the world, and which too frequently involve the abandonment of truth and honour.

(4) Far from, &c.-i. e. living far from the influence of the "ignoble strife,” their wishes never strayed towards it. The"far from," has, of course, no grammatical connexion with "stray."

Yet even1 these bones from insult to protect,
Some frail memorial still2 erected nigh,
With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deckt,
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.

Their name, their years, spelt by the unlettered muse,
The place of fame and elegy supply:
And many a holy text around she strews,
To teach the rustic moralist to die.

For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,

This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned,
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
Nor cast one longing, lingering 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,
Even in our ashes5 live their wonted fires.

6

For thee, who, mindful of the unhonoured dead,
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate;
If, 'chance, by lonely contemplation led,

Some kindred spirit shall enquire thy fate,

(1) Yet even, &c.—The direct train of thought, which has been long interrupted, is here resumed, from the stanza beginning, "Nor you, ye proud," and may be thus connected:-Though these poor people have no monuments in cathedrals, yet even they love to have some memorial, however frail, raised near their bones, to bespeak the sympathy of passers by.

A

(2) Still-always, continually; as if put for, "you will constantly find." somewhat rare use of the word, if this be indeed its meaning here, which is not certain.

(3) For, &c. This stanza is connected with the last but one; the last being in arenthesis.

(4) Pious drops-affectionate tears; taken in the sense of the Latin pius, dutiful to relations.

(5) Even in our ashes, &c.—even in the grave, that desire for affectionate sympathy which we evinced when alive, is expressed by the "frail memorial still erected nigh." Chaucer writes:

"Yet in our ashen cold is fire y-reken (smoking)."

(6) For thee, &c.-i. e. as to thee. The remainder of the poem refers to the character and circumstances of the author, who, by reflecting on the condition and fate of others is naturally reminded of his own.