Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard 3307 On some fond breast the parting soul relies, For thee, who, mindful of the unhonored dead, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate,— Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, "Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. "There at the foot of yonder nodding beech "Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove, Now drooping, woeful-wan, like one forlorn, Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love. "One morn I missed him on the 'customed hill, Along the heath, and near his favorite tree; Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he: "The next, with dirges due in sad array, Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne. Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn:" THE EPITAPH Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, He gained from Heaven ('twas all he wished) a friend. No farther seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose,) The bosom of his Father and his God. Thomas Gray [1716-1771] "AND THOU ART DEAD" Heu, quanto minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui meminissel AND thou art dead, as young and fair And form so soft, and charms so rare, Though Earth received them in her bed, There is an eye which could not brook I will not ask where thou liest low Nor gaze upon the spot; There flowers or weeds at will may grow So I behold them not: It is enough for me to prove That what I loved, and long must love, To me there needs no stone to tell Yet did I love thee to the last, Who didst not change through all the past "And Thou Art Dead" The love where Death has set his seal Nor age can chill, nor rival steal, Nor falsehood disavow: And, what were worse, thou canst not see The better days of life were ours; The worst can be but mine: The sun that cheers, the storm that lowers, The silence of that dreamless sleep I envy now too much to weep; Nor need I to repine That all those charms have passed away The flower in ripened bloom unmatched And yet it were a greater grief I know not if I could have borne To see thy beauties fade; The night that followed such a morn Thy day without a cloud hath passed, As stars that shoot along the sky As once I wept, if I could weep, 3309 To gaze, how fondly! on thy face, Yet how much less it were to gain, And more thy buried love endears DIRGE CALM on the bosom of thy God, Fair spirit, rest thee now! E'en while with ours thy footsteps trod, His seal was on thy brow. Dust, to its narrow house beneath! Soul, to its place on high! They that have seen thy look in death Lone are the paths, and sad the bowers, But oh! a brighter home than ours In heaven, is now thine own. Felicia Dorothea Hemans [1793-1835] A DIRGE Now is done thy long day's work; A Dirge Shadows of the silver birk Sweep the green that folds thy grave. Thee nor carketh care nor slander; Light and shadow ever wander Thou wilt not turn upon thy bed; Let them rave. Thou wilt never raise thine head Crocodiles wept tears for thee; Drip sweeter dews than traitor's tear. Rain makes music in the tree O'er the green that folds thy grave. Round thee blow, self-pleachèd deep, And long purples of the dale. Let them rave. These in every shower creep Through the green that folds thy grave. The gold-eyed kingcups fine, The frail bluebell peereth over Rare broidery of the purple clover. Let them rave. 3311 |