Far from the madding Crowd’s ignoble Strife, 19 Their sober Wishes never learn’d to stray; Along the cool sequester’d Vale of Life They kept the noiseless Tenor of their Way. Yet ev’n these Bones from Insult to protect 20 Some frail Memorial still erected nigh, With uncouth Rhimes and shapeless Sculpture deck’d, Implores the passing Tribute of a Sigh. Their Name, their Years, spelt by th’ unletter’d Muse, 21 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, 22 This pleasing anxious Being e’er resign’d, Left the warm Precincts of the chearful Day, Nor cast one longing ling’ring Look behind! On some fond Breast the parting Soul relies, 23 Some pious Drops the closing Eye requires; Ev’n from the Tomb the Voice of Nature cries Ev’n in our Ashes live their wonted Fires. For thee, who mindful of th’ unhonour’d Dead, 24 Dost in these Lines their artless Tale relate; If chance, by lonely Contemplation led, Some hidden Spirit shall enquire thy Fate, Haply some hoary-headed Swain may say, 25 “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, 26 “That wreathes its old fantastic Roots so high, “His listless Length at Noontide wou’d he stretch, “And pore upon the Brook that babbles by. “Hard by yon Wood, now frowning as in Scorn, 27 “Mutt’ring his wayward Fancies he wou’d 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, 28 “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; “The next with Dirges due in sad Array 29 “Slow thro’ the Church-way Path we saw him born. “Approach and read (for thou can’st read) the Lay, “Grav’d on the Stone beneath yon aged Thorn.” ―――― 1. _Curfew_ in later editions. _The Curfeu tolls the knell of parting day._ ―――― squilla di lontano Che paia ’l giorno pianger, che si muore. _Dante, Purgat. l._ 8. And pilgrim newly on his road with love Thrills, if he hear the vesper bell from far That seems to mourn for the expiring day. _Cary’s Translation._ 2. This verse seems to have strong features of similarity with the following in Collins’s “Ode to Evening:”