Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard — Vocabulary
Thomas Gray
(Auto-generated)

  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.†

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

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.

  Can storied urn or animated bust
  Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?†

  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.†

  Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd muse,
  The place of fame and elegy supply:
  And many a holy text around she strews,
  That teach the rustic moralist to die.†

  Yet ev'n these bones from insult to protect,
  Some frail memorial still erected nigh,
  With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd,
  Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.†

THE EPITAPH
Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth
A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown.

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

  Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,
  Heav'n did a recompense as largely send:
  He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a tear,
  He gain'd from Heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a friend.†

  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.†

  But Knowledge 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 soul.†

  The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r,
  And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
  Awaits alike th' inevitable hour.†

  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 its sweetness on the desert air.†

  Now fades the glimm'ring landscape on the sight,
  And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
  Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
  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,
  Molest her ancient solitary reign.†

  Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust,
  Or Flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of Death?†

  Th' applause of list'ning senates to command,
  The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
  To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,
  And read their hist'ry in a nation's eyes,
  Their lot forbade: nor circumscrib'd alone
  Their growing virtues, but their crimes confin'd;
  Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne,
  And shut the gates of mercy on mankind,
  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.†

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