Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard BY THOMAS GRAY The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea, The plowman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimm'ring 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 tow'r The moping owl does to the moon complain Of such, as wand'ring near her secret bow'r, Molest her ancient solitary reign. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn, The swallow twitt'ring from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care: No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; How jocund did they drive their team afield! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Awaits alike th' inevitable hour. The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, If Mem'ry o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where thro' the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or Flatt'ry 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 sway'd, Or wak'd to ecstasy the living lyre. But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page Rich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll; Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul. Full many a gem of purest ray serene, The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear: Full many a flow'r is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 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. Th' applause of list'ning senates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their hist'ry in a nation's eyes, Their lot forbade: nor circumscrib'd alone Their growing virtues, but their crimes confin'd; Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind, The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, 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, Some frail memorial still erected nigh, With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd, Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd muse, 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, This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing, ling'ring look behind? On some fond breast the parting soul relies, 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 Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; If chance, by lonely contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, 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 craz'd 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'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 Slow thro' the church-way path we saw him borne. Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, Grav'd 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. Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth, And Melancholy mark'd him for her own. Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, Heav'n did a recompense as largely send: He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a tear, He gain'd from Heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a friend. No farther seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose) The bosom of his Father and his God.
Almost right. I understand the cost of insurance became too high and increasing the ticket prices to cover it would have made it too expensive for many people.
Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; Nor Grandeur hear 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 e'er gave, Awaits alike the inevitable hour.
Thanks Syd, It was always a good day out, unfortunately not possible any more. Do you think it's getting smaller year by year, I remember huge fields full of vehicles years ago.
@@JosephJackson-uf1iw You're not getting confused with the Great Dorset Steam Fair are you? That is no more. Last one was 2022. They state expenses such as insurance have forced them to reassess. It may be revived but no one knows yet. The Netley Marsh event has always been small. The last time I went was 35 years ago when I met Wurzel Gummidge who is long gone. We may go again next year but not on a Friday. The agricultural machines were not baling, cutting, sawing etc. Maybe too many men are still at work on a Friday. We shall try the Saturday and hope it is better.
@@SydHutchinson of course you are correct. I was thinking of the Great Dorset. I thought the landscape was rather different. We used to enjoy Netley Marsh too. A bit easier to get to. Will have to fly into Southampton airport in my private jet😄😄
Sad, the big show is no more! The cost to run it has gotten so high that they decided to shut down this year. Not only the biggest steam show, it also had something for everyone! Really had hoped to attend at some point, but now I guess that won't happen.
The last show was 2019. It was then cancelled due to Covid and that caused the running costs to go through the roof. Currently it is up for sale so if you fancy owning it ........
We studied this poem in High School as part of our literature class. I was 14 or 15 years old but it had a strange effect on me and I have never forgotten it since. It moves me like no other poem.
I'm glad it brought back memories for you. I found certain parts of the poem very difficult to visualise. The other poems I have videoed were much easier.😊
My Heart’s in the Highlands My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here, My heart's in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer; Chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe, My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go. Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North, The birth-place of Valour, the country of Worth ; Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, The hills of the Highlands for ever I love. Farewell to the mountains, high-cover'd with snow, Farewell to the straths and green vallies below; Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods, Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods. My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here, My heart's in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer; Chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe, My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.
The car park is near the visitor centre. The road is private and used for residents and lighthouse staff. Trust staff allow disabled drivers to use the road but there is limited parking at the lighthouse. Walking the road takes longer than the footpath. We took the footpath which was certainly quicker than 1.5 hours. Staff in the centre will advise the quickest route if necessary. One of the routes is along the northern edge of the lake. The other is more to the north but all routes are easy going.
Walk to St Abbs Head lighthouse. Then walk across the grass toward the sea. The bay to the left is the best but it is very high looking down to the bay. Don't follow the road which is further. Follow the frootpath signs. Should take around 30 minutes from the visitor centre.
Wen looking at the map of the reserve, I should go on direction to Hopes Heugh or Pettico Wick ? The trail is 1:30 h from the visitor center to the lighthouse in the web site ? thanks
So you suggest to park at visitor center and walk or park near Pettico Wick ? Have you looked at the map from their web site, written than from parking to lighthouse is 90 mn walking ?
The most eloquent dirge ever written on death and mourning, its lament on the brevity of life and happiness is painfully melancholic, but the poignancy of the prose is redeemed by the intense brilliance of each refulgent sentence, allowing us to emotionally walk through this cemetery of shadowy thoughts and dreary expressions, without ever losing our requiem of spiritual delight.
Both. The volume is extremely high. You can hear the carnival starting from across Glastonbury. The camera was set to auto gain but it's difficult considering I was just a few feet from most of the speakers. If I do another one, I shall switch to manual and wear headphones.
Lovely! I really enjoyed it. We were planing to visit UK this spring during Easter to see blooming gardens... but plane tickets got prohibitively expensive between UK and Canada :(
Another great video Syd, it must have taken ages to find all the bits to match the words. I've got some gardening friends who would like it, I'll send them a link. We've all enjoyed the Carnival video's too.. Best Wishes - Dave
Thanks Dave. Yes, it is quite time consuming. Elegy was the worst. We drove for several hours hunting down the scenes that I wanted. The carnival is very tiring. Not sure how many more of the carnival I will do.
Amazing Syd, what a spectacle, and so much of it. I really must try and get down to see it myself sometime. Quite a marathon of filming and editing for you. Well done
