XVIII.

The struggling pangs of confcious Truth to hide,
To quench the blushes of ingenuous Shame,
Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride,
With incenfe kindled at the Mufe's flame.

XIX.

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife,
Their fober wishes never learn'd to stray:
Along the cool fequefter'd vale of life
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.

XX.

Yet even these bones from infult to protect,
Some frail memorial ftill erected nigh,

With uncouth rhymes and fhapelefs fculpture

deck'd,

Implores the paffing tribute of a figh.

XXI.

Their name, their years, fpelt by th' unletter'd Mufe,
The place of fame and elegy supply;

And many a holy text around fhe ftrews,
That teach the ruftic Moralift to die.

XXII.

For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,
This pleafing anxious being e'er refign'd,
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
Nor caft one longing, lingering look behind?

XXIII.

On fome fond breast the parting foul relies, Some pious drops the clofing eye requires : Even from the grave the voice of Nature cries; Even in our afhes live their wonted fires *.

XXIV.

For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead,
Do'ft in thefe lines their artlefs tale relate;
If, chance, by lonely contemplation led,
Some kindred Spirit fhall enquire thy fate,

XXV.

Haply, fome hoary-headed Swain may say,
"Oft have we feen him at the peep of dawn,
"Brufhing with hafty fteps the dews away,
"To meet the Sun upon the upland lawn.

XXVI.

"There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech, "That wreathes its old fantaftic roots fo high, "His liftless length at noontide would he stretch, "And pore upon the brook that babbles by.

*Even in our afbes live their wonted fires.]

Ch'i veggio nel penfier, dolce mio fuoco,
Fredda una lingua, et due begli occhi chiufi,
Rimaner dopo noi pien di faville.

PETR. Son. 169.

XXVII.

XXVII.

"Hard by yon wood, now fmiling as in fcorn, "Mutt'ring his wayward fancies, he would rove; "Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn, "Or craz'd with care, or crofs'd in hopeless love.

XXVIII.

"One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill, "Along the heath, and near his favourite tree: "Another came; nor yet befide the rill, "Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he.

XXIX.

"The next, with dirges due, in fad array, "Slow thro' the church-way path we faw him

"born.

<c Approach and read (for thou can'st read) the lay, "Grav'd on his ftone beneath yon aged thorn."

THE EPITAPH.

XXX.

Here 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.

XXXI.

XXXI.

Large was his bounty, and his foul fincere;
Heav'n did a recompence as largely fend:
He gave to Misery all he had,—a tear;
Hegain'd from Heav'n('twas all he wifh'd) a Friend.

XXXII.

No farther feek his merits to disclose,
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,
(There they alike in trembling hope repose *),
The bofom of his Father, and his God.

• (There they alike in trembling hope repose,)] paventofa fpeme. PETR, Son. 114.

M/

Y process has brought me at last to the far-famed "Elegy written in a Country Church-yard." Of this Elegy, Caution feems to dictate, that Cenfure fhould fay but little, where Praise has faid fo much. Even Obftinacy is content to admit it to be poffeffed of the prefumptive claim to commendation, which is derived from popularity. Literary history furnishes not many inftances, where the anxieties of authors have been fully removed, before the Public was in poffeffion of their work. Yet fuch was the cafe in the inftance before us. The favourable opinion of the world, with respect to this poem, was afcertained whilst it was yet in the birth; and Attention was roufed by repeated whispers, about a capital elegiac production, circulating among a few confidential friends, and of whofe author it was faid (in the cant ufual on fuch occafions) that the diffidence withheld it from the public eye. In