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An E LE GY
WRITTEN IN A
COUNTRY CHURCH YARD.
By Mr. Gray.
, The lowing herd wind Nowly o'er the lea, The plowman homewards plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Now fades the glimmering landscape on the fight,
Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r
Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,
The Breezy call of incense-breathing Morn,
For thèm no more the blazing hearth shall burn,