1847

GRAY'S

ELEGY.

HARD BY YON WOOD, NOW SMILING AS IN SCORN,
MUTTRING HIS WAYWARD FANCIES HE WOULD ROVE;
DROOPING, WOFUL-WAN, LIKE ONE FORLORN,
OR CRAZ'D WITH CARE, OR CROSSD IN HOPELESS LOVE.

NOW

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:

PLATE X.

LE