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.

Each in his narrow cell forever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.
-- Thomas Gray (1716-1771) -- Elegy in a Country Churchyard, Stanza 4...
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.
-- Thomas Gray (1716-1771) -- Elegy in a Country Churchyard, Stanza 20...
The breezy call of incense-breathing morn.
-- Thomas Gray (1716-1771) -- Elegy in a Country Churchyard, Stanza 5...
And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die.
-- Thomas Gray (1716-1771) -- Elegy in a Country Churchyard, Stanza 21...
Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.
-- Thomas Gray (1716-1771) -- Elegy in a Country Churchyard, Stanza 25...
E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.
-- Thomas Gray (1716-1771) -- Elegy in a Country Churchyard, Stanza 23...
Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind.
-- Thomas Gray (1716-1771) -- Elegy in a Country Churchyard, Stanza 17...
Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre.
-- Thomas Gray (1716-1771) -- Elegy in a Country Churchyard, Stanza 12...
Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor.
-- Thomas Gray (1716-1771) -- Elegy in a Country Churchyard, Stanza 8...