Her bow across her shoulder flung, Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew, Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung!— The oak crown'd Sisters, and their chaste eyed Queen, Peeping from forth their alleys green: Brown Exercise rejoic'd to hear, And Sport leap'd up, and seized his beechen spear. 10. Last came Joy's ecstatic trial: He, with viny crown advancing, First to the lively pipe his hand address'd- To some unwearied minstrel dancing; As if he would the charming air repay, Shook thousand odors from his dewy wings.-Collins. SECTION XIII. Elegy written in a Country Churchyard. 2. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, 4. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell forever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 5. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow, twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 6. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. 7. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield; 9. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 10. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, 11. Can storied urn, or animated bust, Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? 12. Perhaps, in this neglected spot, is laid 13. But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page, 14. Full many a gem, of purest ray serene, 15. Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless breast, Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. 16. Th' applause of listening senates to command, And read their history in a nation's eyes, 17. Their lot forbade: nor circumscribed alone 18. The struggling pangs of conscious Truth to hide, With incense kindled at the muse's flame. 19. 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. 20. Yet ev❜n these bones from insult to protect, 21. Their name, their years, spell'd by the unletter'd muse, 22. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, 24. For thee, who mindful of th' unhonored dead, 25. Haply, some hoary-headed swain may say, 27. "Hard by yon wood, now smiling, as in scorn, Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love. 28. "One morn I missed him on th' accustomed hill, Along the heath, and near his favorite tree: Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood, was he:— 29. "The next, with dirges due, in sad array, Slow through the churchway path we saw him borne: Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." The Epitaph. 30. HERE rests his head upon the lap of earth, A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown: Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth, And Melancholy marked him for her own. 31. Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere : Heaven did a recompense as largely send : He gave to misery all he had-a tear; - He gained from heaven-'twas all he wished-a friend 82. 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. SECTION XIV. Gray. On the Barrows, or Monumental Mounds, in the Prairies of the Western Rivers. 1. THE sun's last rays were fading from the west, The evening breeze had lulled itself to rest, With which the widowed turtle wooed, in vain, 2. Now, one by one, emerging to the sight, 3. I lingered, by some soft enchantment bound, I saw the plain, outspread in living green; Its fringe of cliffs was in the distance seen, And the dark line of forest sweeping round. 4. I saw the lesser mounds which round me rose; . 5. Ye mouldering relics of departed years, Your names have perish'd; not a trace remains, Save where the grass-grown mound its summit rears From the green bosom of your native plains. Say, do your spirits wear oblivion's chains? Did death forever quench your hopes and fears ?— 6. Or did those fairy hopes of future bliss, Which simple nature to your bosoms gave, Find other worlds with fairer skies than this, Beyond the gloomy portals of the grave, In whose bright climes the virtuous and the brave Rest from their toils, and all their cares dismiss ? 7. Where the great hunter still pursues the chase, 8. Or, it may be, that still ye linger near |