Solitary Reign

(Thomas Gray- from the poem "Elegy Written In a Country Church-Yard"

    The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
      The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea,
    The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
      And leaves the world to darkness, and to me.

    Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
      And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
    Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
      And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds:

    Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower
      The moping owl does to the moon complain
    Of such as, wandering near her secret bower,
      Molest her ancient solitary reign.

    Hark! How the sacred calm that breathes around
    Bids every fierce tumultuous pussion cease;
    In still small accents whispering from the ground,
    A grateful earnst of eternal peace.

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