Can storied urn or animated bust, Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or wak'd to ecstacy the living lyre. But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page Full many a gem of purest ray serene, The dark unfathom'd caves of Ocean bear: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness in the desert air. Some vilage-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 list'ning senates to command, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their hist'ry in a nation's eyes, Their lot forbad; nor circumscrib'd alone Their growing virtues, but their crimes confin'd; The struggling pangs of conscious Truth to hide, With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. Yet e'en these bones, from insult to protect, With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd, Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd Muse, And many a holy text around she strews, For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, On some fond breast the parting soul relies, For thee, who mindful of th' unhonour'd Dead, Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn, There at the foot of yonder nodding beech, '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 favourite 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." THE EPITAPH Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a tear, He gain'd from Heav'n, 'twas all he wish'd, a Friend. No farther seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose,) The bosom of his Father and his God, HAI AIL, sacred Fane! amidst whose stately shrines, Her constant vigils Melancholy keeps; (Whilst on her arm the grief-worn cheek reclines) And o'er the spoils of human grandeur weeps. Hail, ancient edifice! thine aisle along, What pleasing sadness fills my thoughtful breast Here terminate ambition's airy schemes, |