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Elegy (Grays)

アーティスト：Rick Wakeman  アルバム：G'ole! 

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The curfew tolls the knell of parting day The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lee The ploughman homeward plods his weary way And leaves the world to darkness And to me Now fades the glimmering landscape on the site And all the air a solemn stillness holds Save where the beetle wheels his drewning flight And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds Save that from yonder isly mantle tower The moping owl doest to the moon complain Of such as, wondering near her secret bower Molest her ancient solitary reign Beneath those rugged elms that yew tree shade Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap Each in his narrow cell forever laid The rude forefathers of the hamlets The breezy call of incense breathing morn The swallow twittering from the strawdirt church The cock's shrill clarion of the echoing hoard No more to arouse them from their noble death For them no more the blazing hearths will burn Or busy housewifes ply their evening care No children run to list their sires return Or climb his knees, the envied kiss to share Oft' did the harvest to their sick weald Their furrow oft' a stubborn glebe was broke How jockened did they drive their team afield How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke Let not ambition rock their useful toil Their homely joys and destiny obscure Nor grandeur here with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor The boast of heraldry The pomp of power And all that beauty All that wealth 'er-gave Awakes alike the inevitable hour The paths of glory lead but to the grave Nor you 'ere prow Impute to these the fault of memory Or their tool no trophies raise Where through the long drawn aisle Of threaded vault The peeling anthem swells a note of praise The stored urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid some heart Once pregnant with celestial fire Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed Or wake to ecstacy The living liar The knowledge to their eyes Her ample page Rich with the spoils of time Did n'er unroll 'Til penury repressed their noble rage And froze the genial current of the soul For many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear For many a flower is born to blush unseen And wasted sweetness on the desert air Some village hamlet But with dauntless breast the little tyrant of his fields Withstood some mute and glorious pilgrim Here may rest Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood The applause of listening senates to command The threats of pain and ruin to despise To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land And weave their history in a nation's eyes Their lot forbade



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