For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
Or bufy housewife ply her evening care:
No children run to lifp their fire's return,
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Oft did the harvest to their fickle yield,
Their harrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke;
How jocund did they drive their team a-field!
How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!
Let not ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obfcure;
Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile
The short and fimple annals of the poor.
The boaft of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Awaits 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 no trophies raise,
Where thro' the long-drawn ifle and fretted vault
The pealing anthem fwells the note of praise.
Can ftoried urn or animated buft
Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?
Can honor's voice provoke the filent duft,
Or flatt'ry foothe the dull cold ear of death?
Perhaps in this neglected fpot is laid
Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire:
Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd,
Or wak'd to ecstasy the living lyre.
But knowlege to their eyes her ample page,
Rich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll;
Chill penury reprefs'd their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul.
Full many a gem of pureft ray ferene,
The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear:
Full many a flower is born to blush unfeen,
And waste its sweetness on the defert air.
Some village-Hambden, who with dauntless breast
The little Tyrant of his fields withstood;
Some mute inglorious Milton here may reft,
Some Cromwell guiltlefs of his country's blood.'
Th' applause of lift'ning senates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
To fcatter plenty o'er a fmiling land,
And read their hift'ry in a nation's eyes;
Their lot forbade: nor circumfcrib'd alone
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confin'd;
Forbade to wade thro' flaughter to a throne,
And fhut the gates of mercy on mankind, -
The ftruggling pangs of confcious truth to hide,
To quench the blufhes of ingenuous fhame,
Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride
With incenfe kindled at the muse's flame.
Far from the madding croud's ignoble ftrife,
Their fober wishes never learn'd to ftray;
Along the cool fequefter'd vale of life
They kept the noifelefs tenor of their way.
Yet ev'n thefe bones from infult to protect
Some frail memorial still erected nigh,
With uncouth rhimes and fhapeless sculpture deck'd,
Implores the paffing tribute of a figh.
Their name, their years, fpelt by th' unletter'd mufe,
The place of fame and elegy fupply;
And many a holy text around fhe strews,
That teach the ruftic moralift to die. I'
For who to dumb forgetfulness a prey,
This pleasing anxious being e'er refign'd,
Left the warm precincts of the chearful day,
Nor caft one longing lingʼring look behind ?
On fome fond breast the parting foul relies,
Some pious drops the clofing eye requires;
Ev'n from the tomb the voice of nature cries,
Ev'n in our afhes live their wonted fires.
For thee, who mindful of th' unhonor'd dead,
Doft in these lines their artless tale relate,
If chance, by lonely contemplation led,
Some kindred fpirit fhall enquire thy fate;
Haply fome hoary-headed swain may say,
• Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn
• Brushing with hafty steps the dews away
To meet the fun upon the upland lawn.
There at the foot of yonder nodding beech
• That wreaths its old fantastic roots so high,
His liftlefs length at noontide would he stretch,
And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
• Hard by yon wood, now fmiling as in fcorn,
"Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would rove
Now drooping, woful wan, like one forlorn,
• Or craz'd with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.
• One morn I mifs'd him on the custom'd hill,
Along the heath and near his fav'rite tree;
* Another came, nor yet befide the rill,
. Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he;
• The next with dirges due in fad array,
Slow thro' the church-way path we faw him borne; Approach and read (for thou can't read) the lay Grav'd on the ftone beneath yon aged thorn.'
ERE refts his head upon the lap of earth, A youth to fortune, and to fame unknown: Fair science frown'd not on his humble birth, And melancholy mark'd him for her own.
Large was his bounty, and his foul fincere,
Heaven did a recompence as largely fend:
He gave to mis'ry all he had, a tear,
He gain'd from heaven ('twas all he wish'd) a friend.
No farther feek his merits to disclofe
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose) The bofom of his father and his God.
RUE emblem that, of this much honor'd race Referv'd for glory and preferv'd by grace; Both fhine diftinguish'd---both by light are known, And boaft a luftre which is not their own.
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