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ON Cham ' s fair banks , where Learning ' s hallow ' d fane Majestic rises on th '
astonish ' d fight , Where oft the muse has led the favourite swain , And warm ' d
his soul with Heaven ' s inspiring light , Beneath the covert of the sylvan fhade ...
The blissful muse , whose favouring smile So lately warm ' d his peaceful breast ,
Diffusing heavenly joys the while , In transport ' s radiant garments drest , With
darksome grandeur and enfeeblid blaze , Sinks in the shades of night , and
O ' er the glory of the land , O ' er the innocent and gay , O ' er the muses ' tuneful
band , “ Weave the fun ' ral web of Gray . " ' Tis done , ' tis done - the iron hand of
pain , · With ruthless fury and corrosive force , Racks every joint , and seizes ...
Where - e ' er the oak ' s thick branches stretch A broader browner shade ; Where
- e ' er the rude and moss - grown beech O ' er - canopies the glade * ; Beside
some water ' s rushy brink With me the Muse shall fit , and think , ( At ease reclin ...
On the first marching of the troops The Muses , hopeless of his pardon , Convey '
d him underneath their hoops To a small closet in the garden . So Rumour says :
( Who will , believe . ) But that they left the door a - jar , Where , safe and ...
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I can remember my mother reciting Elegy written in a country church-yard - not all of it though. This poem seemed to mean a lot to her. She never reached the line: 'The path of glory leads but to the grave'. レビュー全文を読む