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The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd wind slowly o’er the lea,
The plowman homeward plods his weary way,
And aves the world to darkness and to me.

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the fight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his drony Alight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds ;

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r The moping owl does to the moon complain Of such, as wand'ring near her secret bow'r Moleft her ancient, solitary reign.

Beneath

CARMEN EL E G I AC U M,

IN

CIMÆTERIO RUSTICO COMPOSITUM.

A Udistin! quam lenta sonans campana per agros,

Ærato occiduam nuntiat ore diem. Armenta impellunt crebris mugitibus auras,

Laffatufque domum rusticus urget iter. Solus

ego in tenebris moror, & vestigia folus Compono tacitâ nocte, vacoque mihi.

Omnia pallescunt jam decedentia visu,

Et terra & cælum, qua patet, omne filet. Cuncta filent, nisi musca suam sub vespere sero

Raucifonans pigram qua rotat orbe fugam ; Cuncta silent, nifi qua faciles campanula somnos

Allicit, & lento murmure mulcet oves,

Quâque hedera antiquas sociâ complectitur umbrâ

Turres, feralis lugubre cantat avis;
Et strepit ad lunam, fi quis fub nocte vagetur

Imperium violans, Cynthia Diva, tuum.

Has

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-trees shade, 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.

8. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twitt'ring from the straw-built fhed, The cock's shrill clarion, or, the echoing horn, No more shall-rouse them from their lowly bed.

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care: Nor children run to lisp their fire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.

Oft did the harvest 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

Has propter veteres ulmos, taxique fub umbra

Qua putris multo cespite turget humus, Dormit, in æternum dormit gens prisca colonům,

Quisque fuâ anguftâ conditus usque domo.

Hos nec mane novum, Zephyrique fragrantior aura,

Nec gallus vigili qui vocat ore diem,
Nec circumvolitans quæ ftridula garrit hirundo

Stramineumque altâ sub trabe figit opus,
Undique nec cornu vox ingeminata sonantis

Æterno elicient hos, repetentque toro.

Amplius his nunquam conjux bene fida marito

Ingeret ardenti grandia ligna foco;
Nec reditum expectans domini sub vespere fero

Excoquet agrestes officiofa dapes;
Nec curret raptim genitoris ad oscula proles,

Nec reducem agnoscent æmula turba patrem..

Quam fæpe Hi rastris glebam fregere feracem !

Sæpe horum cecidit falce resecta seges.
Quam læti egerunt stridentia plaustra per agros,

Et stimulis tardos increpuere boves !
Horum sylva vetus quam concidit icta bipenni,

Quaque ruit laté vi tremefecit humum !

Ne

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.

The boast 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 these the fault, If Mem’ry o’er their tomb no trophies raise, Where thro' the long-drawn isle and fretted vault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.

Can storied urn or animated bust
Back to its manfion call the fleeting breath?
Can honour's voice provoke the filent duft,
Or Flatt'ry footh the dull cold ear of Death ?

Perhaps

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