Yet ev ' n these bones from insult to protect , Some frail memorial still erected nigh ,
With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck ' d , Implores the passing tribute of a sigh .
Their name , their years , spelt by th ' unletter ' d muse , The place of fame and elegy supply :
And many a holy text around she strews , That teach the rustic moralist to die .
For who to dumb Forgetfulness a prey , This pleasing anxious being e ' er resign ' d ,
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day , Nor cast one longing , ling ' ring look behind ?
ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD
On some fond breast the parting soul relies , Some pious drops the closing eye requires ;
Ev ' n from the tomb the voice of Nature cries , Ev ' n in our ashes live their wonted fires .
For thee , who mindful of th ' unhonour ' d Dead Dost in these lines their artless tale relate ; If chance , by lonely contemplation led , Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate ,
Haply some hoary-headed swain may say , " Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn .
" There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high ,
His listless length at noontide would he stretch , And pore upon the brook that babbles by .
" Hard by yon wood , now smiling as in scorn ,
Mutt ' ring his wayward fancies he would rove , Now drooping , woeful wan , like one forlorn , Or craz ' d with care , or cross ' d in hopeless love .
" One morn I miss ' d him on the custom ' d hill , Along the heath and near his fav ' rite tree ; Another came ; nor yet beside the rill , Nor up the lawn , nor at the wood was he ;
" The next with dirges due in sad array Slow thro ' the church-way path we saw him borne . Approach and read ( for thou canst read ) the lay ,
Grav ' d on the stone beneath yon aged thorn ."
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