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ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD. 299

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife

Their sober wishes never learned to stray, Along the cool sequestered vale of life

They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.

Yet even these bones from insult to protect,
Some frail memorial still erected nigh,

With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked,
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.

Their name, their years, spelt by the unlettered 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 resigned, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind? On some fond breast the parting soul relies,

Some pious drops the closing eye requires;
Even from the tomb the voice of nature cries,
Even in our ashes live their wonted fires.10

For thee, who, mindful of the unhonoured 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,
Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove;
Now drooping, woful, wan, like one forlorn,

Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love.
"One morn I missed him on the 'customed 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 through the church-way path we saw him borne ;
Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay
Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn."

THE EPITAPH.

Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth,
A Youth, to Fortune and to Fame unknown;
Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth,
And Melancholy marked him for her own.
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,
Heaven did a recompence as largely send :
He gave to Misery all he had, a tear,

11

He gained from Heaven ('twas all he wished), 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.

1. It makes a considerable difference in the reading of this line, whether tolls be considered a trans. or an intrans. verb. Read it both ways, and say which you prefer.

2. The order of this line may be varied five or six ways. Try it.

3. Observe the exquisite rhythm of this line.

6. Fretted vault?

GRAY.

7. What is the nominative to implores? 8. Any slight grammatical impropriety here, and how is it to be corrected? 9. What pleasing anxious being?

10. Explain the meaning of these two lines?

11. The poet would have been much better employed, if he had actively relieved misery, and kept his "tear" to 5. Explain the original meaning and himself." Must we but weep? our the derivative uses of this word. fathers bled!"

4. In what sense rude?

XXXIX. HUMILITY.

"IF thou art rich, then show the greatness of thy fortune; or what is better, the greatness of thy soul, in the meekness of thy conversation; condescend to men of low estate, support the distressed, and patronise the neglected. Be great; but let it be in considering riches as they are, as talents committed to an earthen vessel; that thou art but the receiver, and that to be obliged and to be vain, too, is but the old solecism of pride and beggary, which, though they often meet, yet ever make but an absurd society."-Sterne.

THE bird that soars on highest wing,
Builds on the ground her lowly nest;
And she that doth most sweetly sing
Sings in the shade when all things rest:
-In lark and nightingale we see
What honour hath humility.

MY OWN PLACE.

When Mary chose the "better part,"

She meekly sat at Jesus' feet;
And Lydia's gently-open'd heart

Was made for God's own temple meet;
-Fairest and best adorn'd is she
Whose clothing is humility.

The saint that wears heaven's brightest crown,

In deepest adoration bends;

The weight of glory bows him down,

Then most when most his soul ascends;

-Nearest the throne itself must be

The footstool of humility.

301

JAMES MONTGOMERY.

XL. MY OWN PLACE.

"THERE is no situation in which a rational being is placed, from that of the best instructed Christian, down to the condition of the rudest barbarian, which affords not room for moral agency; for the acquisition, exercise, and display, of voluntary qualities, good or bad. Health and sickness, enjoyment and suffering, riches and poverty, knowledge and ignorance, power and subjection, liberty and bondage, civilization and barbarity, have all their offices and duties, all serve the formation of character; for when we speak of a state of trial, it must be remembered, that characters are not only tried, or proved, or detected, but that they are generated also, and formed by circumstances. The best dispositions may subsist under the most depressed, the most afflicted fortunes. A West-Indian slave, who, amidst his wrongs, retains his benevolence, I, for my part, look upon as amongst the foremost of human candidates for the rewards of virtue. The kind master of such a slave, that is, he who, in the exercise of an inordinate authority, postpones, in any degree, his own interest to his slave's comfort, is likewise a meritorious character: but still he is inferior to his slave. All, however, which I contend for is, that these destinies, opposite as they may be in every other view, are both trials; and equally such. The observation may be applied to every other condition; to the whole range of the scale, not excepting even its lowest extremity."-Paley.

"My duty towards my neighbour is to learn and labour truly to get mine own living, and to do my duty in that state of life unto which it shall please God to call me."-Church Catechism.

WHOEVER I am, wherever my lot,
Whatever I happen to be,

Contentment and duty shall hallow the spot
That Providence orders for me;

No covetous straining and striving to gain
One feverish step to advance,-

I know my own place, and you tempt me in vain
To hazard a change and a chance!

I care for no riches that are not my right,
No honour that is not my due;

But stand in my station by day and by night,
The will of my Master to do;

He lent me my lot, be it humble or high,
And set me my business here;

And whether I live in His service or die,
My heart shall be in my sphere!

If wealthy, I stand as the steward of my King;
If poor, as the friend of my Lord;

If feeble, my prayers and my praises I bring;
If stalwart, my pen or my sword;

If wisdom be mine, I will cherish His gift;
If simpleness, bask in His love;

If sorrow, His hope shall my spirit uplift ;
If joy I will throne it above!

The good that it pleases my God to bestow,
I gratefully gather and prize;
The evil, it can be no evil I know,
But only good in disguise;

And whether my station be lowly or great,
No duty can ever be mean,

The factory-cripple is fixed in his fate
As well as a king or a queen!
For duty's bright livery glorifies all
With brotherhood, equal and free,
Obeying, as children, the heavenly call,
That places us where we should be ;
A servant, the badge of my servitude shines
As a jewel invested by heaven;

A monarch, remember that justice assigns
Much service, where so much is given!

Away, then, with "helpings" that humble and harm,
Though "bettering" trips from your tongue,
Away! for your folly would scatter the charm
That round my proud poverty hung:

I felt that I stood like a man at my post,
Though peril and hardship were there,-
And all that your wisdom would counsel me most
Is, "Leave it :"-do better elsewhere!

If "better" were better indeed, and not "
I might go ahead with the rest;

But many a gain and a joy is a curse,
And many a grief for the best :

worse,

THE HOUR OF PRAYER.

No!-duties are all the "advantage" I use;
I pine not for praise or for help;
And as to ambition, I care not to choose
My better or worse for myself!

I will not, I dare not, I cannot !-I stand
Where God has ordained me to be,
An honest mechanic,-or lord in the land,-
He fitted my calling for me;

Whatever my state, be it weak, be it strong,
With honour, or sweat, on my face,

This, this is my glory, my strength, and my song,
I stand like a star in my place.

303

TUPPER'S Ballads and Poems.

XLI. THE HOUR OF PRAYER.

"As if in acknowledgment of the mystery of God, as if with an instinctive feeling that his being is the meeting-place of light and shade, and that in approaching him we must stand on the confines between the seen and the unseen; all nations and all faiths of cultivated men have chosen the twilight hour, morning and evening, for their devotions; and so it has happened that, all round the earth, on the bordering circle between the darkness and the day, a zone of worshippers has been ever spread, looking forth for the Almighty tenant of space, one half towards the East, brilliant with the dawn, the other into the hemisphere of night, descending on the West. The veil of shadow, as it shifts, has glanced upon adoring souls, and at its touch, cast down a fresh multitude to kneel; and as they have gazed into opposite regions for their God, they have virtually owned his presence besetting them behind and before.' Our planet thus instinct with devout life, guided with intent and perceptive souls, covered over, as with a Divine retina, by the purer conscience of humanity, is like a living eye, watching on every side the immensity of Deity in which it floats, and grateful for the rays that relieve its native gloom."-Martineau's Discourses.

CHILD, amidst the flowers at play,
While the red light fades away;
Mother, with thy earnest eye,
Ever following silently;
Father, by the breeze of eve,
Called thy harvest-work to leave;
Pray!-ere yet the dark hours be,
Lift the heart and bend the knee.

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