And peals forth the good news, making 8. How they shouted! What rejoicing! 9. That old State House bell is silent, Still is living,-ever young. Who, betwixt the earth and sky, Rung out loudly "Independence," Which, please God, shall never die! CVIII. ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH- 1. The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, 2. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 3. Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower The moping owl does to the moon complain Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, Molest her ancient solitary reign. 4. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a moldering heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever 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, 7. 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! 8. Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor. 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? Or Flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death? 12. Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire- 13. 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. 14. Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear; ; 15. 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. 16. Th' applause of listening senates to command, And read their history in a nation's eyes, 17. Their lot forbade; nor circumscribed alone Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined— 18. The struggling pangs 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. 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, With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked, 21. Their name, their years, spelt by th' unlettered Muse, The place of fame and elegy supply; And many a holy text around she strews, 22. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned, 23. On some fond breast the parting soul relies, 24. For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonored dead, 25. Haply some hoary-headed swain may say: To meet the sun upon the upland lawn ; 26." There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 27." Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Muttering his wayward fancies would he roveNow drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn, Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love. 28." One morn I missed him on the customed hill, Along the heath, and near his favorite tree; |