{"id":71272,"date":"2019-03-08T22:10:46","date_gmt":"2019-03-09T05:10:46","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/admin.patheos.com\/blogs\/danpeterson\/?p=71272"},"modified":"2019-03-09T15:04:29","modified_gmt":"2019-03-09T22:04:29","slug":"elegy-written-in-a-country-churchyard","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/danpeterson\/2019\/03\/elegy-written-in-a-country-churchyard.html","title":{"rendered":"“Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard”"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<\/head>

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\"Churchyard<\/a>
A seemingly abandoned and forgotten English churchyard \u00a0(Wikimedia CC public domain photograph)<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Possibly the first serious poem that I ever really liked, that ever actually moved me and had me reading it again and again \u2014 maybe (I can\u2019t quite recall) as a freshman in high school \u2014 was the \u201cElegy Written in a Country Churchyard,\u201d by Thomas Gray (1716-1771). \u00a0It\u2019s remarkably quotable, but what I really like about it is its affection, even reverence, for \u201cthe short and simple annals of the poor,\u201d and its sense of the deep, intrinsic worth of \u201cthe common people\u201d:<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n
\n
\n
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The lowing herd wind slowly o\u2019er the lea,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
The plowman homeward plods his weary way,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And leaves the world to darkness and to me.\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Now fades the glimm\u2019ring landscape on the sight,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And all the air a solemn stillness holds,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds;\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow\u2019r\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The moping owl does to the moon complain\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Of such, as wand\u2019ring near her secret bow\u2019r,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Molest her ancient solitary reign.\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree\u2019s shade,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Where heaves the turf in many a mould\u2019ring heap,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The swallow twitt\u2019ring from the straw-built shed,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
The cock\u2019s shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Or busy housewife ply her evening care:\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
No children run to lisp their sire\u2019s return,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke;\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
How jocund did they drive their team afield!\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0How bow\u2019d the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The short and simple annals of the poor.\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow\u2019r,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And all that beauty, all that wealth e\u2019er gave,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Awaits alike th\u2019 inevitable hour.\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The paths of glory lead but to the grave.\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0If Mem\u2019ry o\u2019er their tomb no trophies raise,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Where thro\u2019 the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Can storied urn or animated bust\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Can Honour\u2019s voice provoke the silent dust,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Or Flatt\u2019ry soothe the dull cold ear of Death?\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire;\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway\u2019d,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Or wak\u2019d to ecstasy the living lyre.\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Rich with the spoils of time did ne\u2019er unroll;\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Chill Penury repress\u2019d their noble rage,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And froze the genial current of the soul.\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Full many a gem of purest ray serene,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The dark unfathom\u2019d caves of ocean bear:\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Full many a flow\u2019r is born to blush unseen,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And waste its sweetness on the desert air.\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The little tyrant of his fields withstood;\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Some Cromwell guiltless of his country\u2019s blood.\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Th\u2019 applause of list\u2019ning senates to command,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The threats of pain and ruin to despise,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
To scatter plenty o\u2019er a smiling land,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And read their hist\u2019ry in a nation\u2019s eyes,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Their lot forbade: nor circumscrib\u2019d alone\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Their growing virtues, but their crimes confin\u2019d;\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And shut the gates of mercy on mankind,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With incense kindled at the Muse\u2019s flame.\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Far from the madding crowd\u2019s ignoble strife,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Their sober wishes never learn\u2019d to stray;\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Along the cool sequester\u2019d vale of life\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Yet ev\u2019n these bones from insult to protect,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Some frail memorial still erected nigh,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck\u2019d,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Their name, their years, spelt by th\u2019 unletter\u2019d muse,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The place of fame and elegy supply:\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
And many a holy text around she strews,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That teach the rustic moralist to die.\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
For who to dumb Forgetfulness a prey,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0This pleasing anxious being e\u2019er resign\u2019d,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Nor cast one longing, ling\u2019ring look behind?\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
On some fond breast the parting soul relies,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Some pious drops the closing eye requires;\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Ev\u2019n from the tomb the voice of Nature cries,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Ev\u2019n in our ashes live their wonted fires.\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
For thee, who mindful of th\u2019 unhonour\u2019d Dead\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Dost in these lines their artless tale relate;\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
If chance, by lonely contemplation led,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Haply some hoary-headed swain may say,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cOft have we seen him at the peep of dawn\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Brushing with hasty steps the dews away\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cThere at the foot of yonder nodding beech\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
His listless length at noontide would he stretch,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And pore upon the brook that babbles by.\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cHard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Mutt\u2019ring his wayward fancies he would rove,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Or craz\u2019d with care, or cross\u2019d in hopeless love.\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cOne morn I miss\u2019d him on the custom\u2019d hill,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Along the heath and near his fav\u2019rite tree;\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Another came; nor yet beside the rill,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he;\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cThe next with dirges due in sad array\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Slow thro\u2019 the church-way path we saw him borne.\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Grav\u2019d on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
THE EPITAPH\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth<\/em>\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown.\u00a0<\/em><\/span><\/div>\n
Fair Science frown\u2019d not on his humble birth,\u00a0<\/em><\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And Melancholy mark\u2019d him for her own.\u00a0<\/em><\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,\u00a0<\/em><\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Heav\u2019n did a recompense as largely send:\u00a0<\/em><\/span><\/div>\n
He gave to Mis\u2019ry all he had, a tear,\u00a0<\/em><\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He gain\u2019d from Heav\u2019n (\u2019twas all he wish\u2019d) a friend.\u00a0<\/em><\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
No farther seek his merits to disclose,\u00a0<\/em><\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,\u00a0<\/em><\/span><\/div>\n
(There they alike in trembling hope repose)\u00a0<\/em><\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The bosom of his Father and his God.\u00a0<\/em><\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

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

\u00a0 \u00a0 Possibly the first serious poem that I ever really liked, that ever actually moved me and had me reading it again and again \u2014 maybe (I can\u2019t quite recall) as a freshman in high school \u2014 was the \u201cElegy Written in a Country Churchyard,\u201d by Thomas Gray (1716-1771). \u00a0It\u2019s remarkably quotable, but what […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1019,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[4048,4039,1104,4042,4036,4051,1011,4054,2812,4033,4045],"class_list":["post-71272","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized","tag-churchyard","tag-common-people","tag-death","tag-dignity","tag-elegy","tag-english","tag-life-after-death","tag-poem","tag-poetry","tag-thomas-gray","tag-worth"],"yoast_head":"\n"Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard"<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" 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