{"id":101480,"date":"2023-08-23T00:31:13","date_gmt":"2023-08-23T06:31:13","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/danpeterson\/?p=101480"},"modified":"2023-08-26T19:53:25","modified_gmt":"2023-08-27T01:53:25","slug":"a-sentimental-journey","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/danpeterson\/2023\/08\/a-sentimental-journey.html","title":{"rendered":"A Sentimental Journey"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<\/head>

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\"Where<\/a>
A view of Rose Hills Memorial Park, in Whittier, California, where my parents and paternal grandparents and many other of my relatives are buried. It\u2019s sacred ground for me.
(Wikimedia Commons public domain image)<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

My wife and I spent a significant portion of the day visiting the graves of my parents in Rose Hills Memorial Park and, in San Gabriel Cemetery adjacent to the Episcopal Church of Our Saviour, the grave of my brother and the as-yet unmarked and recent grave of his widow. \u00a0Their youngest daughter, Melissa, has now been reinterred there with them. \u00a0When she was born, the umbilical cord became wrapped around her neck, and the medical personnel were unable to save her. \u00a0My brother always carried her photograph with him in his wallet.<\/p>\n

We repeated the rituals that I always follow when we come here. \u00a0I had a chocolate milkshake from Fosselman\u2019s<\/a> in Alhambra and a pastrami dip sandwich from The Hat<\/a> in Temple City, both in memory of my brother. \u00a0(To be fully accurate, my first memories of The Hat \u2014 up through high school \u2014 are connected with its location in Alhambra, at the corner of Valley and Garfield, rather than with the Temple City location that my brother and I later frequented whenever I was in town.)<\/p>\n

The day has left me in an elegiac mood, as I both anticipated and intended. \u00a0Which \u2014 coupled with the fact that the time is late and I\u2019m tired \u2014 finally gives me the excuse that I\u2019ve sought to share one of my long-time favorite poems. \u00a0The poem\u2019s language is archaic, as are also, sometimes, the poet\u2019s syntax and his allusions, but the poem repays a slow and careful reading.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\"Churchyard<\/a>
An abandoned and forgotten English churchyard
(Wikimedia Commons public domain photograph)<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u201cElegy Written in a Country Churchyard,\u201d by Thomas Gray (1716-1771)<\/p>\n

\n
\n
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The lowing herd wind slowly o\u2019er the lea,<\/div>\n
The plowman homeward plods his weary way,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And leaves the world to darkness and to me.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Now fades the glimm\u2019ring landscape on the sight,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And all the air a solemn stillness holds,<\/div>\n
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds;<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow\u2019r<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The moping owl does to the moon complain<\/div>\n
Of such, as wand\u2019ring near her secret bow\u2019r,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Molest her ancient solitary reign.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree\u2019s shade,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Where heaves the turf in many a mould\u2019ring heap,<\/div>\n
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The swallow twitt\u2019ring from the straw-built shed,<\/div>\n
The cock\u2019s shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Or busy housewife ply her evening care:<\/div>\n
No children run to lisp their sire\u2019s return,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke;<\/div>\n
How jocund did they drive their team afield!<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0How bow\u2019d the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;<\/div>\n
Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The short and simple annals of the poor.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow\u2019r,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And all that beauty, all that wealth e\u2019er gave,<\/div>\n
Awaits alike th\u2019 inevitable hour.<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The paths of glory lead but to the grave.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0If Mem\u2019ry o\u2019er their tomb no trophies raise,<\/div>\n
Where thro\u2019 the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Can storied urn or animated bust<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?<\/div>\n
Can Honour\u2019s voice provoke the silent dust,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Or Flatt\u2019ry soothe the dull cold ear of Death?<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire;<\/div>\n
Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway\u2019d,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Or wak\u2019d to ecstasy the living lyre.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Rich with the spoils of time did ne\u2019er unroll;<\/div>\n
Chill Penury repress\u2019d their noble rage,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And froze the genial current of the soul.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Full many a gem of purest ray serene,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The dark unfathom\u2019d caves of ocean bear:<\/div>\n
Full many a flow\u2019r is born to blush unseen,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And waste its sweetness on the desert air.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The little tyrant of his fields withstood;<\/div>\n
Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Some Cromwell guiltless of his country\u2019s blood.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Th\u2019 applause of list\u2019ning senates to command,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The threats of pain and ruin to despise,<\/div>\n
To scatter plenty o\u2019er a smiling land,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And read their hist\u2019ry in a nation\u2019s eyes,<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Their lot forbade: nor circumscrib\u2019d alone<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Their growing virtues, but their crimes confin\u2019d;<\/div>\n
Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And shut the gates of mercy on mankind,<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,<\/div>\n
Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With incense kindled at the Muse\u2019s flame.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Far from the madding crowd\u2019s ignoble strife,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Their sober wishes never learn\u2019d to stray;<\/div>\n
Along the cool sequester\u2019d vale of life<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Yet ev\u2019n these bones from insult to protect,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Some frail memorial still erected nigh,<\/div>\n
With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck\u2019d,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Their name, their years, spelt by th\u2019 unletter\u2019d muse,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The place of fame and elegy supply:<\/div>\n
And many a holy text around she strews,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That teach the rustic moralist to die.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
For who to dumb Forgetfulness a prey,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0This pleasing anxious being e\u2019er resign\u2019d,<\/div>\n
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Nor cast one longing, ling\u2019ring look behind?<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
On some fond breast the parting soul relies,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Some pious drops the closing eye requires;<\/div>\n
Ev\u2019n from the tomb the voice of Nature cries,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Ev\u2019n in our ashes live their wonted fires.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
For thee, who mindful of th\u2019 unhonour\u2019d Dead<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Dost in these lines their artless tale relate;<\/div>\n
If chance, by lonely contemplation led,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate,<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Haply some hoary-headed swain may say,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cOft have we seen him at the peep of dawn<\/div>\n
Brushing with hasty steps the dews away<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cThere at the foot of yonder nodding beech<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high,<\/div>\n
His listless length at noontide would he stretch,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And pore upon the brook that babbles by.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cHard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Mutt\u2019ring his wayward fancies he would rove,<\/div>\n
Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Or craz\u2019d with care, or cross\u2019d in hopeless love.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cOne morn I miss\u2019d him on the custom\u2019d hill,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Along the heath and near his fav\u2019rite tree;<\/div>\n
Another came; nor yet beside the rill,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he;<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cThe next with dirges due in sad array<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Slow thro\u2019 the church-way path we saw him borne.<\/div>\n
Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Grav\u2019d on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.\u201d<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
THE EPITAPH<\/div>\n
Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth<\/em><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown. <\/em><\/div>\n
Fair Science frown\u2019d not on his humble birth, <\/em><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 And Melancholy mark\u2019d him for her own. <\/em><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, <\/em><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Heav\u2019n did a recompense as largely send: <\/em><\/div>\n
He gave to Mis\u2019ry all he had, a tear, <\/em><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 He gain\u2019d from Heav\u2019n (\u2019twas all he wish\u2019d) a friend. <\/em><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
No farther seek his merits to disclose, <\/em><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, <\/em><\/div>\n
(There they alike in trembling hope repose) <\/em><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The bosom of his Father and his God. <\/em><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Shared from Newport Beach, California<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n<\/body><\/html>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u00a0 \u00a0 My wife and I spent a significant portion of the day visiting the graves of my parents in Rose Hills Memorial Park and, in San Gabriel Cemetery adjacent to the Episcopal Church of Our Saviour, the grave of my brother and the as-yet unmarked and recent grave of his widow. \u00a0Their youngest daughter, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1019,"featured_media":62614,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[891,4036,25451,36551,25448,4033],"class_list":["post-101480","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized","tag-alhambra","tag-elegy","tag-fosselmans","tag-temple-city","tag-the-hat","tag-thomas-gray"],"yoast_head":"\nA Sentimental Journey<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"    My wife and I spent a significant portion of the day visiting the graves of my parents in Rose Hills Memorial Park 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