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lirik lagu thomas gray: elegy written in a country churchyard - john glen

the curfew tolls the knell of parting day
the lowing herd wind slowly o’er the lea
the ploughman homeward plods his weary way
and leaves the world to darkness and to me

now fades the glimmering 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 tower
the moping owl does to the moon complain
of such, as wandering near her secret bower
molest her ancient solitary reign

beneath those rugged elms, that yew~tree’s shade
where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap
each in his narrow cell for ever laid
the rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep

the breezy call of incense~breathing morn
the swallow twittering from the straw~built shed
the c~ck’s shrill clarion, or the echoing h~rn
no more shall rouse them from their lowly bed

for them no more the blazing hearth shall burn
or busy housewife ply her evening care:
no children run to lisp their sire’s return
or climb his knees the envied kiss to share
oft did the harvest to their sickle yield
their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke;
how jocund did they drive their team afield!
how bowed the woods beneath their st~rdy stroke!

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

the boast of heraldry, the pomp of power
and all that beauty, all that wealth e’er gave
awaits alike the inevitable hour
the paths of glory lead but to the grave

nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault
if memory o’er their tomb no trophies raise
where through the long~drawn isle and fretted vault
the pealing anthem swells the note of praise

can storied urn or animated bust
back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?
can honour’s voice provoke the silent dust
or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death?

perhaps in this neglected spot is laid
some heart once pregnant with celestial fire
hands, that the rod of empire might have swayed
or waked to ecstasy the living lyre
but knowledge to their eyes her ample page
rich with the spoils of time did ne’er unroll;
chill penury repressed their n0ble rage
and froze the genial current of the soul

full many a gem of purest ray serene
the dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear:
full many a flower is born to blush unseen
and waste its sweetness on the desert air

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

th’ applause of listening senates to command
the threats of pain and ruin to despise
to scatter plenty o’er a smiling land
and read their history in a nation’s eyes

their lot forbad: nor circumscribed alone
their growing virtues, but their crimes confined;
forbad 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
far from the madding crowd’s ign0ble strife
their sober wishes never learned to stray;
along the cool sequestered vale of life
they kept the noiseless tenor of their way

yet even these bones from insult to protect
some frail memorial still erected nigh
with uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked
implores the passing tribute of a sigh

- lirik lagu thomas gray elegy written in a country churchyard

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