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LONDON: Printed by J. HUGHS,
For J. DODSLEY, in PALL-MALL.

M DCC LXV.

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An E LE GY

WRITTEN IN A

COUNTRY CHURCH YARD.

By Mr. Gray.

, The lowing herd wind Nowly o'er the lea, The plowman homewards plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

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Now fades the glimmering landscape on the fight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his drony fight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds ;

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r
The mopeing owl does to the moon complain
Of such, as wand'ring near her secret bow'r,
Molest her ancient, solitary reign.

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap,
Each in his narrow cell for ever laia,
The rude Forefathers of the hamlet sleep.

The Breezy call of incense-breathing Morn,
The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed,
The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.

For thèm no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
Or busy houswife ply her evening care:
No children run to lisp their fire's return,
Or climb his knees the envied kifs to share.

Oft

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