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My Lady rose, and with a grace-
She smil'd, and bid him come to dinner. +

“Jesu-Maria! Madam Bridget,
“ Why, what can the Viscountess mean!"
Cry'd the square hoods, in woful fidget;
• The times are alter'd quite and clean!

6 Decorum's turn'd to mere civility!
“ Her air and all her manners sew it:
6 Commend me to her affability!
“ Speak to a Commoner and Poet!"

[Here soo lanzas are lop.]
And so God save our noble king,
And guard us from long-winded lubbers,
That to eternity would fing,
And keep my lady from her rubbers.

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pithet hugard has been sometimes mistaken as conveying the fame idea, but it means a very different thing, viz wild and farouche, and is taken from an unreclaimed hawk called a hagard.

+ Here the story finishes; the exclamation of the ghosts, which follows, is characteristic of the Spanish inanners of the age when they are supposed to have lived; and the 500 ftanzas faid to be loft, may be imagined to contain the remainder of their long-winded expoftulation.

ELEGY
WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD.
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 leaves the world to darkness and to me.

Now fades the glimm’ring landscape on the sight, And all the air a folemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds; 8

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 folitary reign.

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mould’ring heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude forefathers of the liamlet sleep. 16

The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn, The swallow twitt'ring from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill ciarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 20

For them no more the blazing hearth fhall burn, Or busy housewife ply her ev’ning care; No children run to lisp their fire's return, Or climb his knees the envy'd kiss to share. 24

Oft' did the harvest to their fickle yield, Their furrow oft'the stubborn glebe has broke ;

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-Squilla di lontano
Che paia 'l giorno pianger, che si muore.

Dante, Purgat. l.

32

36

40

How jocund did they drive their team afield!
How bow'd the woods beneath their Aturdy stroke! 28

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obfcure :
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 nó trophies raise,
Where, thro' the long drawn aisle and fretted vault,
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.

Can storied urn or animated bust
Back to it's manfion call the fleeting breath?
Can horour's voice provoke the filent duit,
Or Flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of death? 44

Perhaps in this neglected ipot is laid
Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire.
Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd,
Or wak'd to ecstacy the living lyre.

But K.qowledge to their eyes her ample page,
Rich with the spoils of Time, did ne'er unroll;
Chill Penury repress’d their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the foul.

52
Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear;
Full many a flow'r is born to blush unseen,
And waste it's sweetness on the defert air.

Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields with cod,

48

56 64

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Some mute inglorious Milton, here may rest,
Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. 60

Th' applause of lift’ning senates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,
And read their hift'ry in a nation's eyes.

Their lot forbade; nor circumscrib'd alone
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confin'd ;
Forbade to wade thro' slaughter to a throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind; 68

The struggling pangs of conlcious Truth to hide,
To quench the bluhes of ingenuous Shame,
Or heap the firine of Luxury and Pride
With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. 72

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife,
Their fober wishes never tearn'd to firay;
Along the cool fequefter'd vail of life
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.

Yet e'en these bones, from insult to protect
Some frail memorial still erected righ,
With uncouth rhymes and hapeless sculpture deck'd,
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.

80 Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd The place of fame and elegy supply,

Mufe, And many a holy text around the strews, That teach the rufic moralist to die.

84 This part

of the Elegy differs from the firft copy. The following fianza was excluded with the cther alterations:

Hark! how the sacred calm, that breathes around,
Bids ev'ry fierce tumultuous paffion ceafe,
In fill fmall accents whisp’ring from the ground.
Agrateful carnet of eternal peace.

76

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96

For who to dumb Forgetfulness a prey This pleasing anxious being e'er resign’d, Left the warm precincts of the chearful day, Nor cast one longing ling’ring look behind? 88

On some fond breast the parting soul relies, Some pious drops the closing eye requires; E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, E'en in our ashest live their wonted fires. 92

For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead, Doft in those lines their artless tale relate, If chance, by lonely Contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall enquire thy fate.

Haply fome hoary-headed fwain may fay, « Oft' have we seen him, at the peep of dawn, “ Brushing with hasty feps the dews away, ** To meet the fun upon the upland lawn. TOO

“ There, at the foot of yonder nodding beach, " That wreathes it's old fantastic root fo high, “ His listless length at noon-tide would he stretch, “ And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 104

“ Hard by yon' wood, now smiling as in fcorn, “ Mutt'ring his wayward fancies, he would rove; “ Now drooping, woful wan! like one forlorn, • Or cras'd with care, or crofs'd in hopeless love. 108

“ One morn I miss'd hiin on the custom'd hill, " Along the heath, and near his fav'rite tree;

+ Ch'i veggio nel pensier, dulce n.io fuoco,

Fredda una lingua, et due begli occhi chiusi Rimaner droppo noi pien difaville. Petrarch, Son. 169.

# Mr. Gray forgot, when he displaced, by the preceding stanza, his beautiful description of the evenng haunt, the reference to it which he had here left:

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