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E L E GY
WRITTEN IN A
COUNTRY CHURCH - YARD.
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.
+ ----squilla di lontano Che paia 'l giorno pianger, che si muore.
Dante Purgat. 1..8. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the
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,
(horn, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing No more shall rouze them from their lowly