Elegy Written in Country Chuchyard

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  • Topic: The Spoils, Plough
  • Pages : 3 (982 words )
  • Download(s) : 84
  • Published : March 25, 2013
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1The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,2The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea,3The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,4And leaves the world to darkness and to me.5Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,6And all the air a solemn stillness holds,7Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,8And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds;9Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower10The moping owl does to the moon complain11Of such, as wandering near her secret bower,12Molest her ancient solitary reign.13Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,14Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap,15Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,16The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.17The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,18The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed,19The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,20No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.21For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,22Or busy housewife ply her evening care:23No children run to lisp their sire's return,24Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.25Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield,26Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke;27How jocund did they drive their team afield!28How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!29Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,30Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;31Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile,32The short and simple annals of the poor.33The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,34And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,35Awaits alike the inevitable hour.36The paths of glory lead but to the grave.37Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault,38If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise,39Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault40The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.41Can storied urn or animated bust42Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?43Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust,44Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of Death?45Perhaps in this...
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