Thomas Gray (1716 – 1771)
English poet, classical scholar, and professor of history at Cambridge University.
'Twas on a lofty vase's side,
Where China's gayest art had dyed
The azure flowers, that blow;
Demurest of the tabby kind,
The pensive Selima reclined,
Gazed on the lake below.
Some village 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.
The social smile, the sympathetic tear.
Far from the sun and summer-gale,
In thy green lap was Nature's Darling laid.
The breezy call of incense-breathing morn.
Daughter of Jove, relentless power,
Thou tamer of the human breast,
Whose iron scourge and tort'ring hour
The bad affright, afflict the best!
While bright-eyed Science watches round.
Ye distant spires, ye antique towers,
That crown the wat'ry glade.
Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;
Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile,
The short and simple annals of the poor.
Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade!
Ah, fields beloved in vain!
Where once my careless childhood stray'd,
A stranger yet to pain!
I feel the gales that from ye blow
A momentary bliss bestow.
Brushing with hasty steps the dews away,
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.
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.
E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries,
E'en in our Ashes live their wonted Fires.
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.
What female heart can gold despise?
What cat's averse to fish?
Still as they run they look behind,
They hear a voice in every wind,
And snatch a fearful joy.
The Curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea,
The plowman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
In glittering arms and glory dressed,
High he rears his ruby crest.
There the thundering strokes begin,
There the press and there the din;
Talymalfra's rocky shore
Echoing to the battle's roar.
Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.
Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes;
Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart.