Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard Summary & Analysis
by Thomas Gray

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The Full Text of “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard”

1The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, 

2         The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea, 

3The plowman homeward plods his weary way, 

4         And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 

5Now fades the glimm'ring landscape on the sight, 

6         And all the air a solemn stillness holds, 

7Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 

8         And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds; 

9Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r 

10         The moping owl does to the moon complain 

11Of such, as wand'ring near her secret bow'r, 

12         Molest her ancient solitary reign. 

13Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, 

14         Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap, 

15Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, 

16         The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 

17The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn, 

18         The swallow twitt'ring from the straw-built shed, 

19The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, 

20         No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 

21For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, 

22         Or busy housewife ply her evening care: 

23No children run to lisp their sire's return, 

24         Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. 

25Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, 

26         Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; 

27How jocund did they drive their team afield! 

28         How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! 

29Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, 

30         Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; 

31Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile 

32         The short and simple annals of the poor. 

33The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, 

34         And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, 

35Awaits alike th' inevitable hour. 

36         The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 

37Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, 

38         If Mem'ry o'er their tomb no trophies raise, 

39Where thro' the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault 

40         The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 

41Can storied urn or animated bust 

42         Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? 

43Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, 

44         Or Flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of Death? 

45Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 

46         Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; 

47Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd, 

48         Or wak'd to ecstasy the living lyre. 

49But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page 

50         Rich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll; 

51Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage, 

52         And froze the genial current of the soul. 

53Full many a gem of purest ray serene, 

54         The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear: 

55Full many a flow'r is born to blush unseen, 

56         And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 

57Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast 

58         The little tyrant of his fields withstood; 

59Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, 

60         Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood. 

61Th' applause of list'ning senates to command, 

62         The threats of pain and ruin to despise, 

63To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 

64         And read their hist'ry in a nation's eyes, 

65Their lot forbade: nor circumscrib'd alone 

66         Their growing virtues, but their crimes confin'd; 

67Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, 

68         And shut the gates of mercy on mankind, 

69The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, 

70         To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, 

71Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride 

72         With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. 

73Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, 

74         Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray; 

75Along the cool sequester'd vale of life 

76         They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. 

77Yet ev'n these bones from insult to protect, 

78         Some frail memorial still erected nigh, 

79With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd, 

80         Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 

81Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd muse, 

82         The place of fame and elegy supply: 

83And many a holy text around she strews, 

84         That teach the rustic moralist to die. 

85For who to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, 

86         This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, 

87Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, 

88         Nor cast one longing, ling'ring look behind? 

89On some fond breast the parting soul relies, 

90         Some pious drops the closing eye requires; 

91Ev'n from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, 

92         Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted fires. 

93For thee, who mindful of th' unhonour'd Dead 

94         Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; 

95If chance, by lonely contemplation led, 

96         Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, 

97Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, 

98         "Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn 

99Brushing with hasty steps the dews away 

100         To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. 

101"There at the foot of yonder nodding beech 

102         That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, 

103His listless length at noontide would he stretch, 

104         And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 

105"Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, 

106         Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would rove, 

107Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn, 

108         Or craz'd with care, or cross'd in hopeless love. 

109"One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill, 

110         Along the heath and near his fav'rite tree; 

111Another came; nor yet beside the rill, 

112         Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he; 

113"The next with dirges due in sad array 

114         Slow thro' the church-way path we saw him borne. 

115Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, 

116         Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." 

THE EPITAPH 

117Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth 

118       A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown. 

119Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth, 

120       And Melancholy mark'd him for her own. 

121Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, 

122       Heav'n did a recompense as largely send: 

123He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a tear, 

124       He gain'd from Heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a friend. 

125No farther seek his merits to disclose, 

126       Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, 

127(There they alike in trembling hope repose) 

128       The bosom of his Father and his God. 

The Full Text of “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard”

1The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, 

2         The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea, 

3The plowman homeward plods his weary way, 

4         And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 

5Now fades the glimm'ring landscape on the sight, 

6         And all the air a solemn stillness holds, 

7Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 

8         And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds; 

9Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r 

10         The moping owl does to the moon complain 

11Of such, as wand'ring near her secret bow'r, 

12         Molest her ancient solitary reign. 

13Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, 

14         Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap, 

15Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, 

16         The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 

17The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn, 

18         The swallow twitt'ring from the straw-built shed, 

19The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, 

20         No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 

21For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, 

22         Or busy housewife ply her evening care: 

23No children run to lisp their sire's return, 

24         Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. 

25Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, 

26         Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; 

27How jocund did they drive their team afield! 

28         How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! 

29Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, 

30         Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; 

31Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile 

32         The short and simple annals of the poor. 

33The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, 

34         And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, 

35Awaits alike th' inevitable hour. 

36         The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 

37Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, 

38         If Mem'ry o'er their tomb no trophies raise, 

39Where thro' the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault 

40         The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 

41Can storied urn or animated bust 

42         Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? 

43Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, 

44         Or Flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of Death? 

45Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 

46         Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; 

47Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd, 

48         Or wak'd to ecstasy the living lyre. 

49But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page 

50         Rich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll; 

51Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage, 

52         And froze the genial current of the soul. 

53Full many a gem of purest ray serene, 

54         The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear: 

55Full many a flow'r is born to blush unseen, 

56         And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 

57Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast 

58         The little tyrant of his fields withstood; 

59Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, 

60         Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood. 

61Th' applause of list'ning senates to command, 

62         The threats of pain and ruin to despise, 

63To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 

64         And read their hist'ry in a nation's eyes, 

65Their lot forbade: nor circumscrib'd alone 

66         Their growing virtues, but their crimes confin'd; 

67Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, 

68         And shut the gates of mercy on mankind, 

69The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, 

70         To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, 

71Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride 

72         With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. 

73Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, 

74         Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray; 

75Along the cool sequester'd vale of life 

76         They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. 

77Yet ev'n these bones from insult to protect, 

78         Some frail memorial still erected nigh, 

79With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd, 

80         Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 

81Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd muse, 

82         The place of fame and elegy supply: 

83And many a holy text around she strews, 

84         That teach the rustic moralist to die. 

85For who to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, 

86         This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, 

87Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, 

88         Nor cast one longing, ling'ring look behind? 

89On some fond breast the parting soul relies, 

90         Some pious drops the closing eye requires; 

91Ev'n from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, 

92         Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted fires. 

93For thee, who mindful of th' unhonour'd Dead 

94         Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; 

95If chance, by lonely contemplation led, 

96         Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, 

97Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, 

98         "Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn 

99Brushing with hasty steps the dews away 

100         To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. 

101"There at the foot of yonder nodding beech 

102         That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, 

103His listless length at noontide would he stretch, 

104         And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 

105"Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, 

106         Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would rove, 

107Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn, 

108         Or craz'd with care, or cross'd in hopeless love. 

109"One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill, 

110         Along the heath and near his fav'rite tree; 

111Another came; nor yet beside the rill, 

112         Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he; 

113"The next with dirges due in sad array 

114         Slow thro' the church-way path we saw him borne. 

115Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, 

116         Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." 

THE EPITAPH 

117Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth 

118       A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown. 

119Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth, 

120       And Melancholy mark'd him for her own. 

121Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, 

122       Heav'n did a recompense as largely send: 

123He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a tear, 

124       He gain'd from Heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a friend. 

125No farther seek his merits to disclose, 

126       Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, 

127(There they alike in trembling hope repose) 

128       The bosom of his Father and his God. 

  • “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard” Introduction

    • "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard" is the British writer Thomas Gray's most famous poem, first published in 1751. The poem's speaker calmly mulls over death while standing in a rural graveyard in the evening. Taking stock of the graves, he reflects that death comes for everyone in the end, and notes that the elaborate tombs of the rich won't bring their occupants back from the dead. He also commemorates the common folk buried in the churchyard by imaging the lives they might have lived had they been born into better circumstances, and considers the benefits of anonymity. The poem ends with his own imagined epitaph.

  • “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard” Summary

    • The church's evening bell signals that the day is ending. The mooing cows travel slowly across the grass and a tired farmer trudges home, leaving the world and I are together in the darkness.

      Now the land around me is glowing in the sunset but also fading away as I look at it. There's a seriousness stillness hanging in the air, apart from the buzz of a flying beetle and the tinkling of the sheep's bells, which is like their bedtime music.

      The air is still apart from that tower over there, covered with ivy, where a sad owl is complaining to the moon about anything that, wandering around her secret nest in the tower, disturbs her longstanding, lonely rule over the area.

      Underneath those burly elm trees and the shade of that yew tree, there are mounds of moldy dirt: each laying in a narrow room forever, the uneducated founders of this tiny village sleep.

      The sound of the scented breezes of morning, the swallow singing in a shed made of straw, the rooster's sharp cry, or the echoes of a hunter's horn—these sounds will no longer wake the dead from their humble resting places.

      The fireplace will no longer burn brightly for these dead people, nor will with their busy wives work in the evening to take care of them. Their children no longer will run over to celebrate when their father has come home from work for the evening, or climb on his lap to get to be the first to get a kiss.

      When they were alive, these people often harvested crops with their farm implements. They often plowed up difficult ground. How cheerfully they drove their farm animals over the field as their plowed! How confidently they chopped down trees, which seems to bow as they fell beneath the strokes of the ax!

      Don't let ideas about ambition push you to make fun of the useful work these country folk did. Don't make fun of their plain and simple joys, their unknown lives. Don't let feelings of superiority make you smile scornfully at the short and simple biographies of poor people.

      The bragging implied by a rich family's coat of arms; the frills and traditions of the powerful; all the things that beauty and wealth can give someone—death waits for all these things. Even the most glorious lives still end in death.

      And you, you proud people, don't blame the poor if no memorials are erected on their graves as ornaments that outline their achievements in life; or if they don't have a tomb with a long hallway and a vaulted ceiling illustrated with all their accomplishments, echoing with the sounds of mourners singing the praises of the dead.

      Can an urn decorated with events from the dead person's life, or a life-like sculpture of their head, call the dead person's breath back into their body? Can honor bring their decaying body back to life? Can flattery convince death not to come for someone?

      Maybe in this unkempt patch of ground is buried someone who was once passionately filled with heavenly fire. Maybe someone is buried here who could have ruled an empire or brought music and poetry to new heights.

      But they couldn't read or get an education, meaning they were never able to learn about history. Cold poverty held back their inspiration and froze the creative parts of their minds.

      Many gems that give off the most beautiful light are buried in dark, unexplored caves in the ocean. Many flowers bloom unseen by anyone, wasting their beauty and scent on a deserted place.

      Some villager here could have been like the politician John Hampden (who fought for the people's rights against an authoritarian king)—except on a much smaller scale, fearlessly standing up to the landlord who owned the fields he worked. Someone here might have been a silent, fame-less John Milton (the renowned Renaissance poet who wrote Paradise Lost) because he never learned to write. Someone could have been like the English dictator Oliver Cromwell, but because he was poor and powerless he never had the chance to ruthlessly kill all the English people that Cromwell did.

      The ability to have the senate applaud you; the ability to scoff at the dangers of suffering and defeat; the chance to spread wealth throughout a happy country; the chance to live a life so influential that one's biography is reflected in an entire nation...

      All these things were prevented by these people's poverty. Not only did poverty prevent them from developing their talents, but it also prevented them from committing any atrocities. It prevented them from killing countless people in order to gain power, and in the process giving up on any sense of human rights.

      Poverty means that these people never had to hide their guilt after committing such acts, repressing their own shame. They never had to honor the rich and proud as if honoring gods with poetry.

      Far away from the crazed, immoral conflicts of the rich and powerful, these poor people only had simple, serious desires. In this calm and isolated valley of life, they stuck to their own quiet ways.

      Yet, to protect even these poor people's bones from total disrespect, a meager memorial has been built nearby. It has poorly written rhymes and a poorly made sculpture, but it still makes passing visitors sigh.

      These people's names, the years they were alive—all carved by someone who was illiterate—stand in place of fame and a lengthy commemoration. Many quotes from the Bible are scattered around the graveyard, quotes that teach unrefined yet good-hearted people how to die.

      After all, what kind of person, knowing full well they'd be forgotten after death, ever gave up this pleasant and troublesome life—ever left the warm areas of a happy day—without looking back and wanting to stay a little longer?

      A dying person relies on the heart of some close friend, leaning against their chest—they need that person to shed some reverent tears as they die. Even from the tomb nature cries out, even in our dead bodies the habitual passions of the poor still burn.

      You, who have been thinking about those who died anonymously, have been telling their unpretentious story in this poem. If by chance, and because of lonely thoughts, someone similar to you asks about what happened to you—

      —maybe luckily enough some old country person will answer them: "We saw him at sunrise a lot, his quick footsteps sweeping the dew off the grass as he went to see the sun from the town's higher fields.

      "Over there, at the base of that swaying beech tree with old, gnarled roots and high, tangled branches, he would lay down and noon and stretch out his tired body, gazing into the nearby brook.

      "Close to that forest over there, smiling as if with disapproval, talking to himself about his own stubborn fantasies, he would explore—sometimes moping, sad and pale, like a miserable person; other times gone crazy with worry, disturbed by unrequited love.

      "One morning I didn't see him on his usual hill, near the rough fields and his favorite tree. Another morning came, and I didn't see him by the stream or field or forest.

      "The third morning, with funeral songs and a sad procession, we saw him carried slowly along the path to church. Go up and read (since you can read) the poem carved on the gravestone under that old, gnarled tree."

      THE SPEAKER'S EPITAPH:
      Here, resting his head in the dirt, lies a young man that had neither wealth nor fame. He had no education because he was born to common people. His life was defined by sadness.

      Even so, he had great gifts and an earnest mind. Heaven repaid him in plenty for these gifts and his suffering. He gave all he had to his misery, which was a single tear. In return, Heaven gave him the only thing he'd ever wanted: a friend.

      Don't try anymore to talk about his strengths and gifts, or to bring his weakness back from the dead. Both his strengths and weakness lie in the grave in a state of quivering hope. He is now with his Father, God.

  • “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard” Themes

    • Theme The Inevitability of Death

      The Inevitability of Death

      The main idea of “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard” is a simple one: everybody dies. Sitting in a graveyard as the sun begins to set, the speaker mulls over the fact that death is universal. He thinks about the many kinds of lives that death cuts short, emphasizing the fact no amount of wealth, power, or fame can save people from death. At the heart of the poem, then, is the blunt fact that death comes for everyone: the rich, the poor, and the speaker himself.

      Since an “elegy” is a poem written to lament someone’s death, the poem's title signals its themes right away. This elegy, it becomes clear soon enough, is for everyone who is buried in the “Country Churchyard,” the graveyard attached to a rural church. It’s also for everyone who will be buried there—which includes the speaker himself! In fact, the poem might as well be for all mortals, for whom the poem reminds readers death is inevitable.

      This is a bleak sentiment to be sure, and the darkness that descends over the churchyard captures this sense of looming, inescapable mortality. Church bells signal the "parting day," leaving the speaker alone as night falls. Standing in the graveyard as the light fades, the speaker sees death everywhere, as if it suddenly envelops the world itself.

      Contemplating the humble graves all around him, the speaker is further struck by the fact that people die whether they’re rich or poor. The graves in this churchyard might look like moldy mounds of dirt, but, the speaker insists, it's not like a rich person’s more beautiful grave would somehow call them back from the dead!

      The speaker reflects on the elaborate burials of the rich and powerful in order to hammer home the fact that death is universal. Some people may have “trophies” on their tombs, “urn[s]” and “bust[s]” that represent all their accomplishments, yet these things cannot “call the fleeting breath” back into the dead person’s body. The “dull cold ear of Death” doesn’t listen to “praise” for the dead person; even fame and "glory" can’t defeat death, and when someone dies, the speaker implies, they’re dead for good.

      The speaker even describes his own death, imaging how he will be buried “beneath yon aged thorn,” under an old tree. The poem in fact ends with the speaker’s imagined epitaph! From the gloomy omens at the beginning to the speaker’s demise at its end, then, the poem is saturated with death—universal, inescapable, and final.

    • Theme The Value of Commemorating the Dead

      The Value of Commemorating the Dead

      The speaker insists that death is universal and final—that it comes for everyone and can't be undone. At the same time, however, the poem speaks to the value of honoring, remembering, or even just imagining the lives of the dead. Doing so, the poem suggests, is a meaningful act of memorial for those whom the rest of the world, and history itself, has forgotten. What's more, the poem implies that such acts of commemoration may be a way to help people confront their own mortality. Memorializing the dead thus also helps the living.

      The people buried in the churchyard don’t have elaborate memorials. The speaker describes their graves as “moldering heap[s],” mounds of dirt without the ostentatious decorations of rich people's marble tombs. At most, their graves have their names and the years they were alive.

      Still, their simple graves have a profound effect on the speaker, who starts imagining what kinds of live these people might have led. He imagines them woken by the call of a rooster. He pictures them “[driving] their team” of oxen over the land, cheerful as they plow the soil. He speculates that one of them may have stood up to “the little tyrant of his fields” (i.e., a greedy landlord). In contemplating the lives of these people, he honors them. He sees their lives as full of meaning and authentic emotion. And this, in turn, illustrates the profound effect that even the simplest traces of the dead can have on the living.

      These simple gravestones also lead people to contemplate their own deaths. The speaker describes how simple rural people often have poetry or Bible verses ("many a holy text") carved on their graves in order to "teach the rustic moralist to die." In other words, people like to carve sayings that provide some wisdom about death and dying. Visiting someone’s grave isn’t just about remembering someone’s life, but about confronting death itself, and perhaps finding some way to accept it.

      The poem ultimately suggests there are two reasons to commemorating the dead: remembering and honoring those who are gone, and facing up to the fact of death itself.

    • Theme Anonymity vs. Fame

      Anonymity vs. Fame

      As the speaker contemplates death, he focuses on all the common people who have died without fame, power, or wealth. In particular, he realizes that many people could have been great and famous if only they had grown up under the right circumstances. Rather than lamenting this fact, however, the speaker suggests that these people led less troubled lives than those in elite society. The speaker rejects wealth, fame, and power, and instead celebrates regular people living ordinary lives. Anonymity, the poem suggests, is better for the soul.

      The speaker imagines all the kinds of fame and power common people might have achieved if they’d been born in a higher class. First, the speaker represents this idea in metaphorical terms: “Full many a flower is born to blush unseen.” In other words, many flowers bloom with nobody to look at them. The same goes for common people, whose skills and powers may well go unrecognized.

      Next, the speaker imagines this potential in terms of past famous people. For instance, he imagines “Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest": that is, someone buried in this graveyard might have been as great a genius as the poet John Milton. However, because the dead here were illiterate and confined to a rural trade, they never had the chance to write any glorious poems—rendering them metaphorically “mute,” or unable to speak.

      All this wasted potential sounds pretty sad, until the speaker starts thinking about all the horrible people who have gained power throughout history. For instance, he mentions Oliver Cromwell, a dictator who ruled England in the middle of the 17th century. Someone buried in this churchyard might have had the same potential for injustice, yet because of his anonymity he never had the chance and is “guiltless of his country’s blood.” In this sense, the lives of common people prevent them from becoming monsters. Their “lot,” or place in their world, “confined” their “crimes.” Someone can’t “wade through slaughter to a throne” if they’re just a simple, unknown farmer living from one harvest to the next.

      All things considered, the speaker doesn’t think wealth, power, or fame are worth it, preferring common people's "sober wishes." Regular folks want simple, understandable things like food on the table and a roof over their heads, the speaker says, and thus are never driven to “the madding crowd’s ignoble strife”—to the grotesque conflicts of the powerful. Commoners, according to the speaker, live in “the cool sequestered vale of life.” They keep their heads clear and find a measure of happiness.

      Finally, the speaker reveals that he identifies with this anonymity. In the epitaph at the end of the poem, the speaker imagines himself as a young man who never received an education and died without fame or wealth. Although he dies full of “Melancholy,” or sadness, he also found a measure of peace in his anonymity. “[H]is soul was sincere,” and he dies without being polluted by wealth or fame.

      Life might not be happy, the poem implies, but at least anonymity grants people the chance to live and die in peace—without empty striving or cruel ambition.

  • Line-by-Line Explanation & Analysis of “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard”

    • Lines 1-4

      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. 

      "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard" begins by setting the scene and mood. A "Country Churchyard" is a graveyard—that is, a burial area connected to a church—in a rural area. The speaker is standing in this rural graveyard as the day ends. He describes in simple, clear details the various sights and sounds that mark the end of the day in a rural English village in the mid-1700s: the church bell rings, cows are herded back to the farm, farmers trudge home from the fields, and darkness envelops the land.

      This is an atmospheric beginning to a poem that announces itself, from its title, as an "Elegy"—a poem that mourns someone's death. Death is on the reader's and speaker's minds, then, throughout these opening lines. As "the curfew tolls the knell of parting day," it's easy to imagine a funereal sound to these bells. After all, "parting" is often a euphemism for death. The sorrowful-sounding "lowing" of cattle, like the cries of mourners, mixes with the ringing of the bells. And finally "darkness," a classic symbol of death, descends over the world. Everyone has gone home and the speaker is left in isolation, perceiving death everywhere.

      By beginning with accurate, evocative descriptions of the natural world, Gray immediately places his poem within a new kind of nature poetry, one that evolved throughout the 1700s. In comparison, much poetry of the time tended to focus on allegory, in which abstract qualities were personified in imaginary scenes. Although Gray will turn to this type of writing in this poem as well, he deliberately begins the poem by describing concrete images in the real world. It's easy to imagine the speaker as a flesh-and-blood person observing an actual scene in this rural village.

      At the same time, the poem follows a pretty conventional form: rhymed quatrains, or four-line stanzas, written in iambic pentameter. This means that each line has five poetic feet that follow a da-DUM rhythm. Here's line 1 as an example:

      The cur- | few tolls | the knell | of par- | ting day,

      The lines rhyme in an alternating ABAB pattern (the rhyme pairs being "day"/"way" and "lea"/me"). The result is that the poem is both very readable and very quotable. (And, in fact, many phrases from this poem have found their way into popular culture, and into other works of art.)

    • Lines 5-8

      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; 

    • Lines 9-12

      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. 

    • Lines 13-16

      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. 

    • Lines 17-20

      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. 

    • Lines 21-24

      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. 

    • Lines 25-28

      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! 

    • Lines 29-32

      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. 

    • Lines 33-36

      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. 

    • Lines 37-40

      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. 

    • Lines 41-44

      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? 

    • Lines 45-48

      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. 

    • Lines 49-52

      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. 

    • Lines 53-56

      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. 

    • Lines 57-60

      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. 

    • Lines 61-66

      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; 

    • Lines 67-72

      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. 

    • Lines 73-76

      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. 

    • Lines 77-80

      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. 

    • Lines 81-84

      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. 

    • Lines 85-88

      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? 

    • Lines 89-92

      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. 

    • Lines 93-94

      For thee, who mindful of th' unhonour'd Dead 
               Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; 

    • Lines 95-100

      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. 

    • Lines 101-104

      "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. 

    • Lines 105-108

      "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. 

    • Lines 109-114

      "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. 

    • Lines 115-116

      Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, 
               Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." 

    • Between Lines 116-117, Lines 117-120

      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. 

    • Lines 121-124

      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. 

    • Lines 125-128

      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. 

  • “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard” Symbols

    • Symbol Darkness and Night

      Darkness and Night

      Darkness and night in the poem symbolize death and isolation. At the beginning of the poem, the speaker describes watching evening begin in a rural village. Slowly, he is left alone in an increasingly dark graveyard as night falls. This coming darkness represents the inevitability of death. Just as every day must end in night, so must every life end with dying. Additionally, the onset of evening implies that throughout the poem, it is getting darker and darker. As the speaker progresses through his meditation, he also gets closer and closer to death.

      To that end, note how the speaker points out graves in the "yew-tree's shade," again linking death (in the form of those graves) to darkness (shade). Not coincidentally, the yew tree is a traditional symbol of death itself—one regularly found in British churchyards.

      The darkness throughout the poem also represents the speaker's isolation from other people. It suggests a sense of isolation that the speaker tries to overcome throughout the coming lines by imagining the lives of the dead people who are buried in this graveyard.

    • Symbol Light and Fire

      Light and Fire

      Given that darkness and night in the poem represent death, it makes sense that light and fire represent life. The loss of light throughout the poem is tied to the coming of death—with the speaker sitting in the graveyard as evening comes and the "glimm'ring lanscape" fades, meaning the light of life itself begins to wane. Note also how the speaker repeatedly points out how the dead no longer have access to light and fire; they can't feel the "burn" of "the blazing hearth," for example ("hearth" means fireplace), and are buried in the "shade" of a yew tree.

      Light and fire also represent two things closely associated with life and vivacity: passion and inspiration. To that end, the speaker says there might be someone in the graveyard whose "heart [was] one pregnant with celestial fire"—or passion, glory, vivacity—but that lively fire has been extinguished by death. When the speaker refers to "incense kindled at the Muse's flame" in line 72, he's again linking fire with inspiration (the Muse refers to a goddess of the arts, and in more general usage simply refers to a person or personified source of creative inspiration).

    • Symbol The Beetle

      The Beetle

      Beetles, particularly the type of beetle called Deathwatch beetles, are a classic symbol of death. According to superstition, the sound of this beetle is supposed to signal that someone is going to die, in fact! By introducing a beetle in this stanza, the speaker thus emphasizes how he sees death everywhere around him.

      At the same time, the beetle itself is a living thing going about its usual beetle tasks. As a result, there's some tension between the beetle as symbol in the poem and beetle as actual, living animal. This might hint that the line between life and death can sometimes be a little blurry. For instance, as the poem shows, the memories of people can live on even though those people have died.

    • Symbol The Rod of Empire

      The Rod of Empire

      The "rod of empire" is an emperor's scepter, a symbol of absolute political power. Here, the speaker uses it to contrast the height of human power, an emperor, with the most humble people, those buried in this cemetery. The speaker believes that one of these humble people could have wielded the power of an emperor, if only they had been born into different circumstances. Additionally, by using the rod as a symbol, the poem provides an easy-to-visualize image for the speaker's otherwise abstract argument. It helps the reader digest what the speaker's saying immediately, registering this sentiment on a physical level.

    • Symbol The Lyre

      The Lyre

      The lyre is a stringed-instrument that the ancient Greeks used to accompany their poetry, and it has come to symbolize poetry itself. As with the use of the "rod," or scepter, as symbol, the lyre provides an easy-to-grasp physical dimension to the speaker's otherwise abstract argument. In lines 45-48 the speaker says, "Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid" someone who might have "wak'd to ecstasy the living lyre."

      He's saying that perhaps someone in this graveyard could have written beautiful poetry. To heighten the "ecstasy" of this idea, he chooses to represent it through an image that is more exciting than someone writing on a poem on a piece of paper. Instead, he depicts the "living lyre," a vibrant stringed instrument creating beautiful sounds (note how the alliteration of "living lyre" here also adds more beauty to the phrase itself).

  • “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard” Poetic Devices & Figurative Language

    • Assonance

      The language of "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard" is musical and melodious—thanks in large part to the poem's assonance, some striking examples of which we've highlighted in this guide. The poem's carefully doled out assonance simply makes it pleasurable and easy to read, and it also helps makes the poem's imagery more vivid.

      For instance, the speaker repeats the long /o/ sound in the first two lines:

      The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
      The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea,

      The assonance here evokes the poem's somber setting. Those round, open /o/ sounds suggest the slow "toll[ing]" bells or the deep "lowing" noises made by a nearby herd of animals.

      The speaker often sustains the same assonant sound across many lines as well, making the poem feel cohesive and lyrical. Take lines 13-17, for example, in which the relentless /ee/ sound makes the poem feel carefully crafted:

      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,

      This repeated sound also links each image at hand—the trees, the heaps of dirt, the corpses, the morning—into one coherent environment. As a result, there's an almost cinematic quality to the these descriptions, as if a camera is slowly moving through a graveyard, before jumping to a flashback (the "incense-breathing Morn") in the same landscape.

    • Consonance

    • Alliteration

    • Imagery

    • End-Stopped Line

    • Allusion

    • Metaphor

    • Personification

    • Parallelism

    • Anaphora

    • Enjambment

  • "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard" Vocabulary

    Select any word below to get its definition in the context of the poem. The words are listed in the order in which they appear in the poem.

    • Country Churchyard
    • Curfew
    • Tolls
    • Knell
    • Parting Day
    • Lowing
    • Wind
    • O'er
    • Lea
    • Plowman
    • Plods
    • Glimm'ring
    • Solemn
    • Wheels
    • Tinklings
    • Lull
    • Folds
    • Yonder
    • Ivy-Mantled
    • Bower
    • Molest
    • Yew Tree
    • Heaves
    • Turf
    • Mould'ring
    • Narrow Cell
    • Rude
    • Forefathers
    • Hamlet
    • Incense-Breathing Morn
    • Twitt'ring
    • Cock
    • Clarion
    • Horn
    • Rouse
    • Lowly
    • Hearth
    • Ply
    • Care
    • Lisp
    • Sire
    • Oft
    • Sickle
    • Yield
    • Furrow
    • Glebe
    • Jocund
    • Team
    • Afield
    • Bow'd
    • Stroke
    • Ambition
    • Obscure
    • Grandeur
    • Annals
    • Heraldry
    • Pomp
    • E'er
    • Ye
    • Impute
    • Trophies
    • Long-Drawn Aisle
    • Fretted Vault
    • Pealing Anthem
    • Storied Urn
    • Animated Bust
    • Mansion
    • Fleeting
    • Provoke
    • Flatt'ry
    • Celestial Fire
    • Rod of Empire
    • Sway'd
    • Ecstasy
    • Lyre
    • Ample
    • Spoils
    • Chill Penury
    • Rage
    • Genial Current
    • Serene
    • Unfathomed
    • Bear
    • Blush
    • Hampden
    • Dauntless Breast
    • Little Tyrant
    • Mute Inglorious Milton
    • Cromwell
    • Lot
    • Forbade
    • Circumscrib'd
    • Virtues
    • Slaughter
    • Pangs
    • Ingenuous Shame
    • Luxury and Pride
    • Muse
    • Madding Crowd
    • Ignoble Strife
    • Sober
    • Sequestered Vale
    • Tenor
    • Nigh
    • Uncouth
    • Deck'd
    • Implores
    • Unletter'd
    • Elegy
    • Rustic Moralist
    • Dumb Forgetfulness
    • Resign'd
    • Precincts
    • Fond Breast
    • Pious Drops
    • Wonted Fires
    • Thee
    • Dost
    • Artless
    • Chance
    • Kindred Spirit
    • Thy
    • Haply
    • Hoary-Headed Swain
    • Peep
    • Dews
    • Upland Lawn
    • Nodding Beech
    • Wreathes
    • Listless Length
    • Noontide
    • Pore
    • Yon
    • Wood
    • Wayward Fancies
    • Woeful Wan
    • Forlorn
    • Care
    • Custom'd
    • Heath
    • Rill
    • Dirge
    • Array
    • Lay
    • Thorn
    • Youth
    • Fortune
    • Fair Science
    • Melancholy
    • Bounty
    • Recompense
    • Disclose
    • Abode
    • Bosom
    • A rural graveyard—that is, a burial ground attached to a church.

  • Form, Meter, & Rhyme Scheme of “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard”

    • Form

      "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard" is written in rhymed quatrains, or four-line stanzas. These stanzas are self-contained: every fourth line is end-stopped, almost always with a period, and the stanzas often feature other end-stopped lines as well. As a result, the poem proceeds in a very clear, simple, and readable manner. Line by line, the speaker puts together a well-ordered depiction of his observations and thoughts. Each line can stand on its own as a poetic observation or image, and each stanza is a cohesive whole—held together with parallelism, anaphora, and rhyme.

      Quatrains are also the traditional stanza form for songs. Although the poem never fully veers into actual singing—it's not a funeral dirge—it does have a very musical feel to it, in its use of the devices mentioned above as well as its assonance, alliteration, and consonance. Whatever strangeness readers may find in the poem, there's no arguing that formally it is balanced, tasteful, and musical.

      The poem is also, of course, an elegy—a mournful lamentation for someone who has died. The speaker is actually elegizing the entire graveyard, and, perhaps more broadly, humanity itself, given his insistence that death comes for everyone eventually.

    • Meter

      The poem employs a steady, fluid iambic pentameter, meaning each line has five feet in a da-DUM rhythm. The first line is a classic example of this meter:

      The cur- | few tolls | the knell | of par- | ting day,

      There aren't any hiccups or tongue-twisters here—the line flows. All four lines of the first stanza are in the same meter, and have that same smooth rhythm.

      This is the case for most of the poem. Even though the poem clocks in at some 128 lines, its iambic pentameter goes down as easy as a glass of juice. Over two centuries of readers have found this poem pleasurable and readable.

      That said, the poem is never smooth to the point of monotony. For instance, sometimes the speaker swaps the first two syllables, as in line 9:

      Save that | from yon- | der i- | vy man- | tled tow'r

      This is a classic little trick. The trochee (DUM-da) changes up the rhythm just enough without disrupting the poem's overall flow. Here, the speaker almost seems to interrupt himself as the sound of an owl catches his attention, creating a slight bump in the poem's rhythm.

      An even more varied line comes in line 19 of stanza 5:

      The cock's | shrill clar- | ion, or | the ech- | oing horn,

      The speaker replaces the second foot with a spondee (DUM-DUM), creating three stresses in a row. The result is a sharp series of sounds that mimics the rooster's early-morning cry. Next, the speaker inserts an extra unstressed syllable in the third and fifth feet. As a result, these two feet have an elongated, "echoing" sound to them, like the blast of the horn. Gray probably meant for these unstressed syllables to be elided (so that "clarion" is pronounced /clar/+/yon/ and "echoing" is /ek/+/wing/), but even so, there's definitely a feeling of a new metrical texture here, one that captures what the line describes.

      In fact, this whole stanza slows things down, as thick, textured consonant sounds and big stresses make the reader linger over each line, just as the speaker lingers in these happy visions of rural life. That said, the poem never veers too far off course. Even during its most vibrant changes in meter, the poem never loses track of that smooth, fluid rhythm that makes it so musical and readable.

    • Rhyme Scheme

      Each stanza in "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard" follows this rhyme scheme:

      ABAB

      This is a simple, intuitive rhyme scheme, and it rings out clearly and reliably throughout the poem. Because many of the lines end with punctuation, and many are end-stopped, these rhymes are further highlighted: rather than breezing past them, the poem usually has a slight pause or breath after each rhyme. For such a long poem, it's impressive how many of these rhymes are perfect; in fact, there are arguably only a handful of slant rhymes, and even these might have been less slanted in the 1700s when the poem was written (for example, "withstood"/"blood" in lines 58 and 60). This reflects the speaker's control over the poem's language, which is rather comforting in its predictability even as the speaker contemplates death.

  • “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard” Speaker

    • The question of the speaker in "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard" is an interesting one. This is because at the end the speaker turns the poem around on himself, addressing himself in the second person, then having a character talk about him the third person, and finally ending with his own epitaph!

      Let's tackle the beginning of the poem first, before these mysterious twists occur. For the first 90 lines of the poem, the speaker meditates on the world around him rather than describing his own life. However, he does begin the poem by situating himself within this world, describing a rural village at dusk before hinting at his own place in it:

      The plowman homeward plods his weary way,
      And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

      As the title suggests, the speaker is standing in a rural graveyard, watching evening begin. At the end of the first stanza, everyone has gone home for the night, meaning the speaker is left alone in this graveyard. The sense of isolation in the fourth line suggests that the speaker isn't really one of these villagers; he's an outsider.

      As the speaker describes the lives of the rural poor, particularly their lack of education and illiteracy, it becomes even clearer that he's not one of them. When the speaker references "uncouth rhymes" or "th' unletter'd muse," he clearly does so as someone who has his own developed literary taste and ability. In contrast to the awkward, "uncouth" writing on the memorials of the poor, the speaker uses sophisticated syntax (language structure) inspired by Latin grammar, as well as other elegant poetic devices. Although the speaker idealizes the poor's lack of education, it's clear that he himself is well-educated.

      However, from line 93 to the end of the poem, the speaker suddenly transforms into an uneducated "youth" that lives and dies in the village. This transformation begins by the speaker suddenly addressing himself as "thee," or you, who "Dost in these lines [the Dead's] artless tale relate." That is, the speaker speaks to himself as the person who has been writing this poem! Next, the speaker says that if any like-minded person should come to the village and ask about the speaker, they might be lucky enough to meet some old-timer who would tell them about the speaker.

      Now, the poem shifts into the third person as this old "swain," or rural person, describes the speaker's life and death. Here the swain calls the speaker "him." At this point, the speaker becomes a character in his own poem. In effect, he stops speaking and transforms from a highly educated writer to an illiterate young man. In this new role, the speaker has a pure soul and strong emotions, but he also seems unable to express himself. He is lonely and unknown, and one day he dies. Finally, the poem ends with the speaker's own epitaph.

      These final sections are an ingenious way of emphasizing death's inevitability: even the speaker of this poem dies! By shifting from the first to third person, the poem ends outside any one person's mind. This shift captures the sense that life goes on after someone dies, but any individual person's perspective eventually disappears.

  • “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard” Setting

    • The title gives it away: this poem is set in a "Country Churchyard," a graveyard beside a church in a rural village. The poem begins as day ends, and the speaker sets the scene by the describing the different activities that occur in the church's village at evening: the cows are mooing, the "plowman" is heading home, and the sunlight is fading.

      After this initial sketch, the speaker focuses his attention on the graveyard itself. Most of the poem involves the speaker looking around this graveyard, with its simple graves and "mould'ring heap[s]" of dirt, and pondering what he sees. Something he sees something that sends him into his own thoughts for a while, as when he sees a "neglected spot"—an unkempt grave—and starts to imagine all the people who could have been buried there.

      As a result, the setting of the poem is equal parts rural graveyard and the speaker's own imagination, where abstract ideas are personified like gods (i.e., "Knowledge," "Grandeur," etc.). These two settings fuse at the end of the poem, when the speaker imagines himself as someone who lives in this village and gets buried in this graveyard.

  • Literary and Historical Context of “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard”

    • Literary Context

      Inspired in part by the death of a fellow poet, Thomas Gray wrote "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard" in the 1740s, and first published it in the 1750s. The poem has enjoyed enormous popularity ever since, and remains one of the most famous poems in the English language to this day.

      Gray weaves together two forms of writing in this poem. One is a type that had been familiar to contemporary readers for the last century: Neoclassical or Augustan poetry. This genre was a form of writing in which poets talked about morality, society, and how people should live their lives. Rather than describing actual events, Augustan poets used imaginative, revealing images of personified abstractions (like "Knowledge") engaged in allegorical scenes. Poets using this form, from John Dryden to Alexander Pope, were even-tempered, witty, and sharply intelligent.

      The other type is new a kind of writing that some poets began to develop in the 1700s, and to which Gray's poem is a contribution. This is poetry as nature writing. Poets like John Dyer and James Thomson described real sights in the English countryside. They evoked the beauty of the natural world through realistic descriptions. Their poems were earnest, rural, and lush, rather than satirical and suave. Some critics consider such works to be a kind of precursor to 19th-century Romanticism.

      Partly because of how it weaves these strands together, and partly because the poem really is a marvel of control and tone—it just sounds so good—Gray's poem immediately sparked a lot of imitations. The English read it incessantly for a century, and all poets writing after it had to contend with it in some way.

      Historical Context

      Socially, Gray's poem is a product of a society that was paying increasing attention to the lives of its poor. Literacy rates were increasing, meaning that reading for pleasure was no longer just a pastime of the rich. More and more writing was directed to common people, and people's everyday lives became subjects of public discussion. This also meant that some of the poor even became writers or political figures, demonstrating to English society that greatness could be found in any class. These ideas are very obviously present in Gray's poem.

      Philosophically, this was the age of empiricism. Philosophers liked David Hume and John Locke analyzed how people's moment-to-moment experiences were the basis of all their ideas. These philosophers were very interested in perception, in how people observed the real world and then made conclusions from those observations. This trend can also be seen in Gray's poem, as he begins by emphasizing the poem's setting, then shows how that setting leads his speaker to new thoughts.

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