THOMAS GRAY
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, Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would rove,
Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn, Or crazed 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 fav'ritc 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. Fatr Science frown* d not on his humble birth.
And Melancholy marked him for her own.
Large was his bounty , and his soul sincere , Heatfn did a recompense as largely send:
He gave to Mis'ry all he had> a tear y
He gained from Heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a friend.
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