Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's fhade, 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 incenfe-breathing morn,
The fwallow twitt'ring from the ftraw-built fhed,
The cock's fhrill clarion, or the echoing horn,
No more fhall roufe them from their lowly bed.

For them no more the blazing hearth fhall burn,
Or bufy housewife ply her ev'ning care,
No children run to lifp their fire's return,
Or climb his knees the envied kifs to fhare.

Oft did the harveft to their fickle yield,
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke;
How jocund did they drive their team afield!
How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys and deftiny obfcure;
Nor Grandeur hear with a difdainful fmile,
The fhort and fimple annals of the poor.

The boaft of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike th' inevitable hour:

The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

Nor you, ye Proud, impute to Thefe the fault, If Mem❜ry o'er their Tomb no Trophies raife, Where thro' the long-drawn ifle and fretted vault The pealing anthem fwells the note of praise.

Can ftoried urn or animated bust

Back to its manfion call the fleeting breath?
Can Honour's voice provoke the filent duft,"
Or Flatt'ry foothe the dull cold ear of Death?

Perhaps in this neglected fpot is laid
Some heart once pregnant with celeftial fire:
Hands, that the rod of empire might have fway'd,
Or wak'd to extafy the living lyre.

But

But knowledge to their eyes her ample page.
Rich with the fpoils of time did ne'er unroll;
Chill Penury reprefs'd their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the foul.

Full many a gem of pureft ray ferene,
The dark, unfathom'd caves of ocean bear;
Full many a flow'r is born to blush unfeen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breaft
The little Tyrant of his fields withstood;
Some mute inglorious MILTON here may reft,
Some CROMWELL guiltlefs of his country's blood.

Th' applaufe of lift'ning fenates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
To fcatter plenty o'er a fmiling land,
And read their hift'ry in a nation's eyes,

Their lot forbad: nor circumfcrib'd alone
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confin'd;
Forbad to wade through flaughter to a throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind,

The ftruggling pangs of confcious truth to hide,
To quench the blufhes of ingenuous fhame,
Or heap the fhrine of Luxury and Pride
With incenfe kindled at the Mufe's flame.

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble ftrife,
Their fober wishes never learn'd to stray;
Along the cool fequefter'd vale of life
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.

Yet, ev'n these bones from infult to protect,

Some frail memorial ftill erected nigh,

With uncouth rhimes and fhapelefs fculpture deck'd,

Implores the paffing tribute of a figh..

71

Their name, their years, fpelt by th' unletter'd Mufe, The place of fame and elegy fupply:

And many a holy text around the ftrews,

That teach the ruftic moralift to die.

For

For who to dumb Forgetfulnefs a prey,' This pleafing anxious being e'er refign'd, Left the warm precincts of the chearful day, Nor caft one longing, ling'ring look behind?

On fome fond breaft the parting foul relies,
Some pious drops the clofing eye requires:
Ev'n from the tomb the voice of Nature cries,
Ev'n in our Afhes live their wonted Fires.

For thee, who mindful of th' unhonour'd Dead
Doft in thefe lines their artlefs tale relate;
If chance, by lonely Contemplation led,
Some kindred Spirit fhall inquire thy fate.

Haply fome hoary-headed fwain may say,
Oft have we feen him at the peep of dawn,
Brushing with hafty fteps the dews away,
'To meet the fun upon the upland lawn.

There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots fo high, His liftless length at noon-tide would he ftretch, • And pour upon the brook that babbles by.

'Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in fcorn, 'Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would rove; Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn, 'Or craz'd with care, or crofs'd in hopeless love.

'One morn I mifs'd him on th' cuftom'd hill, Along the heath and near his fav'rite tree: 'Another came; nor yet befide the rill,

Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he.

'The next with dirges due in fad array

'Slow through the church-way path we faw him borne. Approach and read (for thou can'ft read) the lay, "Grav'd on the ftone beneath yon aged thorn."

THE E PIT A PH.

ERE refts his head upon the lap of Earth

HEA

A Youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown:

Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth,
And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.

Larg

Large was his bounty, and his foul fincere,"
Heav'n did a recompence as largely fend:
He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a tear,

He gain'd from Heav'n ('twas all he wifh'd) a friend.

No farther feek his merits to disclose,
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,
(There they alike in trembling hope repofe)
The bofom of his Father and his God.

HYMN TO ADVERSITY.

[GRAY.]

AUGHTER of Jove, relentless power,
Thou tamer of the human breaft,

Whose iron fcourge and tort'ring hour,
The bad affright, afflict the best!
Bound in thy adamantine chain
The proud are taught to tafte of pain,
And purple tyrants vainly groan

With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone,

When first thy fire to fend on earth Virtue, his darling child, defign'd, To thee he gave the heav'nly birth, And bade to form her infant mind. Stern rugged nurfe! thy rigid lore With patience many a year the bore:

What forrow was, thou bad'ft her know,

And from her own fhe learn'd to melt at others' woe.

Scar'd at thy frown terrific, fly

Self-pleafing Folly's idle brood,

Wild Laughter, Noife, and thoughtless Joy,

And leave us leifure to be good.

Light they difperfe, and with them go

The fummer friend, the flatt'ring foe;

By vain Profperity receiv'd,

To her they vow their truth, and are again believ❜d.

Wifdom in fable garb array'd

Immers'd in rapt'rous thought profound,
And Melancholy, filent maid

With leaden eye, that loves the ground,

E

Still

Still on thy folemn fteps attend:

Warm Charity, the gen'ral friend,
With Juftice to herself fevere,

And Pity, dropping foft the fadly-pleafing tear.

Oh, gently on thy fuppliant's head,
Dread Goddefs, lay thy chaft'ning hand!
Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad,
Nor circled with the vengeful band
(As by the impious thou art seen)

With thund'ring voice, and threat'ning mien,
With screaming Horror's funeral cry,
Defpair, and fell Disease, and ghaftly Poverty.

Thy form benign, oh Goddefs, wear,
Thy milder influence impart,

Thy philofophic train be there

To foften, not to wound my heart.
The gen'rous fpark extinct revive,
Teach me to love and to forgive,

Exact my own defects to scan,

What others are, to feel, and know myself a man.

ODE on a distant Profpect of ETON COLLEGE,

[GRAY.]

7E diftant fpires, ye antique towers, That crown the wat❜ry glade,

Where grateful fcience ftill adores

Her HENRY's holy fhade;

And ye that from the ftately brow

Of WINDSOR's heights th' expanfe below

Of grove, of lawn, of mead furvey,

Whofe turf, whofe fhade, whofe flowers among

Wanders the hoary Thames along

His filver-winding way.

Ah happy hills, ah pleafing fhade,

Ah fields belov'd in vain,

Where once my careless childhood ftray'd,

A ftranger yet to pain!

I feel the gales, that from ye blow,

A momentary blifs beftow,

As