210 ELEGY, WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD. Yet e'en these bones from insult to protect With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd, Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd Muse, And many a holy text around she strews For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, On some fond breast the parting soul relies, For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead, Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, There at the foot of yonder nodding beech ELEGY, WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD. 211 Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he; The next with dirges due in sad array Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne,— Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn. THE EPITAPH. Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere; He gain'd from Heaven, '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. 212 THE POPLAR FIELD. THE POPLAR FIELD. THE poplars are fell'd, farewell to the shade Twelve years have elapsed since I last took a view And the tree is my seat that once lent me a shade. The blackbird has fled to another retreat Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat; My fugitive years are all hasting away, With a turf on my breast and a stone at my head, 'Tis a sight to engage me, if anything can, W. Cowper. THE BIRKS OF INVERMAY. 213 THE BIRKS OF INVERMAY. THE smiling morn, the breathing spring, And, while they warble from the spray, Let us, Amanda, timely wise, Like them improve the hour that flies; For soon the winter of the year, David Mallet. 214 TO THE CUCKOO. TO THE CUCKOO. HAIL, beauteous stranger of the grove! What time the daisy decks the green, Delightful visitant! with thee I hail the time of flowers, The school-boy, wandering through the wood To pull the primrose gay, Starts, the new voice of Spring to hear, And imitates thy lay. What time the pea puts on the bloom Thou fliest thy vocal vale, An annual guest in other lands, Another Spring to hail. |