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About The Sunday Oregonian. (Portland, Ore.) 1881-current | View Entire Issue (April 29, 1900)
twf- ', 4 - THE SUNDAY OREGONIAN, PORTLAND,. APRIL' 29, 1900. MODERN MIXSTItELSV. It Is a far cry from "West or Barlow to the troubadour of old romance or the "last minstrel" Immortalized In the loving lines of "Walter Scott. Tet there are many points In common, and the new minstrelsy Is perhaps quite as luch a restoration as the product of a thousand years of evolution. Our mod- lern troubadour has drawn upon all ources for his equipment. His finished product is nothing: short of an epitome af civilization. The march of soldiers and the recognition of the National spirit harks -back to old Home and the ancient state. These athletes had their prototypes in the Olympian games and the combats of the Coliseum. Ballad comes through Italy from dim an tiquity, and here perhaps as nowhere the topical song and laconic witticism on current foibles of society perpetuate the functions of Athenian comedy and the censorial calling of the old Greek chorus. Modern minstrelsy has risen to the Ineeds of the cultivated without losing Bts hold on the masses. In tho univer sality of its perfected appeal It is sur passed alone by the circus, and Its sur vival can only be ascribed to talent's slow but conscious adaptation of means to ends. Development has given rise to high forms of skill, and along these lines we may forecast the coming min strel. The old "middleman," pompous and rigid, has gone his way before such genuine dramatic work as Mr. West pmparts to the difficult role of the interested listener. To have seen rare comedy like that of Ernest Ten ney and Lew Baldwin Is to be forever after unsatisfied with the rough-and- ready horseplay of other days. Mr. Jose Is. a striking exemplification of what the ballad-singer of the future must be native sweetness of voice and the lyric method brought up to high levels of artistic achievement through study and training sweet song purified by cultivation, cot destroyed by tech nique. There are steps yet to climb and dross to be purged away. It is a credit to minstrelsy that it has honorable part In the discovery and embalmment of the only true American music, our negro melodies, and no one can wish to discourage this development. But it is not necessary to descend to vulgarity. The lullaby and the pure love song, the rhythm of movement and the abandon of fun, are to be perpetuated, but the lowest levels of negro civilization must not be dragged for the delectation of an ignorant or a lascivious audience. Illicit love is to be tolerated In no guise. whether in court trappings at Madrid and Versailles or in the toughs and wenches of Darktown brothels. "Coon songs" may be beautiful or damnable; and some of these we get nowadays ought not to be tolerated by the self respecting audience. Take him all In all, the modern min strel comes to an overworked world. tired and oross with the multiplic ity of its cares and worries, as a means of grace. In the rise of modern amuse ments, his is a seat of high honor. He has had the discernment to see that play is only a little less Important than work, and perhaps quite as Important, because without play very little of the work we do will have any real power. The service of the circus man, the min strel and the comedian has been to help us discover the high function of rest and recreation. We had almost con cluded that we are to go to the theater to work and study; but In time we have learned that it has been given for our ifcfu-j. flM ix-J., ia rri pleasure. Some- distant day, perhaps. there 'will be too much Joy and happi ness In the world. Then the minstrel shall be turned Into a Censor, the the ater Into a torture chamber, and the cello Into a whlpplng-post- PIIAXTASMAGOniA OP TYllAXJfY. For lava wo let the Island men go free Those baffled and dltlaureled ghosts Will curse us from the lamentable coasts Where want the frustrate dead. William Vaughn Moody's poem la the May Atlantic So we And that this treat force (national In stinct) which bears statesmen hither and thither, like cockles on the tide. Is nothing but e great national Instinct of creed, the craving f the belly. What power has It to excuse tatesmen for breaches of the moral law? IL Sedgwick, Jr.'a, essay In the May Atlantic. One of the oldest and most Inveterate ccupatlons of humanity is the pursuit f phantoms. Every individual mind Is the prey of countless refracted and erverted Influences that come through heredity from the most distant antiq uity. Every member of our various civilizations is descended from men who, centuries ago, lived by the Nile or the Euphrates, founded Rome or peo pled Greece, Journeyed with Xerxes Into Thrace or with Alexander Into Persia, fought In Gaul with Gerznanl- :ua or Armlnlus, crossed the channel to invade Britain or toiled eastward to escue the Holy Sepulcher. "Within our blood old battles flow, from Troy itself and the Pyramids to Trafalgar and Waterloo. Our Instincts are resultants of forces exerted upon us since before the body took Its human form as we see in the aversion for snakes, derived from the day our hairy ancestors swung from the limbs of tropical for ests or hid in the earth from beasts and storm and burning heat. Our prej- dlces survive for centuries after their sources have been forgotten we still reproach the Jew for his slowness at the profession of arms which for ages was denied him, we still fear that a Catholic In office will deliver the Gov ernment over to the Vatican. Added to these Influences of heredity and tradi tion are the thousand casual impres sions of the passing hour. A momen tary glance into a book at a receptive moment, or a. casual remark overheard on pur hurried way, sinks into our con sciousness and turns aside the whole current of our thought 'and our exist ence. Trifles light as air mould thought, transform character, determine destiny. The Golden Fleece, the Holy Grail, the fountain of perpetual youth, the sinless state all these are chimeras that men have pursued and then have left for other objects, some more real, some equally Intangible. These are the preconceptions through which the actual world, like light through a prism, impresses Itself upon the mind of man. It Is not strange, therefore, that the objects many men of thought pursue are distorted shad ows of real objects or phantoms of their own'imagining. Such a phantom Is the Idea embodied in the extracts at the head of this article, and notably em bodied in the utterances of Senator Hoar and Edward Atkinson. Its power to Influence events is limited, because the things that are absolutely right and necessary to be done will get them selves done somehow. Protest was made against the war with Spain, but It arose. It merged Into the treaty of Paris, It compelled the acquisition of the Spanish islands, suppression of in surrection In Luzon, provision for re lief in Puerto Rico, the Iron hand of military despotism doing the work of sanitation and Industry in Cuba. Pro tests of dissenters weighed no more against the progress of events than did the reluctance of the active partici pants or the halting timidity of the Ad ministration. And so Just now the de mand for "freedom" for the Filipinos, In whatever name and by whatever shibboleth Invoked, will fall, because there Is no way, physically possible, by which the thing can be done. In Jus tice to ourselves we cannot leave these Islands to be derelicts in the deep; In Justice to their inhabitants we cannot leave them the prey to their own inca pacity and ungovernable desires. The chief source of regret Is the spectacle of wise and good minds so bewildered by the brilliancy of their own Imagi nation and led astray by their own conjuring?. It is regrettable to see the Atlantic, for example, descend from Mr. Page's virile discussions, which did so much for clarification of Eastern senti ment, to accept the imperfect vis ion of men like Sedgwick and Kelson. There Is a terrible falling off, at which the Judicious can but. grieve. The notion that American sover eignty means tyranny is one of the most unaccountable hallucinations that current discussion has been burdened with". Not only does it stubbornly resist the patriotic instinct which should at least restrain from error on the wrong side, but It also sets at defiance all ma terial facts from which conclusions could be made up. Has the Republic lest its character as the asylum for the oppressed of all lands? Then why do they continue to pour In hither at the rate of 300,000 a year? "Why does Japan, If our rule Is tyrannous, refease hun dreds of her laborers to seek employ ment here and contemplate punitive legislation to keep them home? The flag has been extended before, without the consent of the governed, with wars of subjugation, so-called, and with pur chase. If we are going to restore land to the dispossessed, where shall we be gin? Massachusetts must go back to the 1500 Algonqulns that survive the conquests made by the Pilgrim colonies. New York really belongs to the Iro quois and the Dutch. Give Florida to the Semlnoles and Louisiana to the French, Texas to Mexico, California to Spain and Oregon to the Cayuses and Calapoolas. The Alaskans were bought at so much a head, and are fit subject for Bostonian sympathy. Tet they seem content. Hawaii had her free dom, but solicited our sovereignty as Texas did fifty years before, and wel comed It as Porto Rico did almost sim ultaneously. As to how we shall treat the new accessions, these- older ones testify in their content and loy alty. As to the determination of the people that Justice shall be .done, wit ness the outcry here at home against attempted Injustice to Porto Rico, wit ness the good work done In Cuba and Guam, and even in Luzon and Porto Rico. The man who pleads for escape for the Filipinos from American tyr anny impeaches both his patriotism and his discernment. It is liberty, and not oppression, that we are carrying tothe Spanish islands. We have freed them from Spain, they must be delivered from themselves. They will rise In time to the same level of self-government enjoyed by Massachusetts and Oregon, and then they will have it. For no man can keep It from them. Self-government Is a thing to be acquired. It cannot be bestowed like a garment. It - .oJ, -Ay Is not a Christmas present. It Is an employment in which only the compe tent can engage. THE DECLINE OF ENGLISH FICTION. There is a clear decline In the produc tion of excellent fiction of the first qual ity in England. The English novel of sterling permanent quality may be said to date from Fielding. Between Field1 lng and Scott there was plenty of .Eng lish fiction, but, with the exception of the admirable novels of Jane Austen, ardently admired by men so different as Walter Scott and Macaulay, nothing of permanent quality. The seventy years that have elapsed since Scott ceased his best productiveness have given us but two really great names in fiction, viz., Thackeray and George Eliot. To the second rank belong Dick ens, Charles Reade, Thomas Hardy, George Meredith, Conan Doyle and Mrs. Humphrey Ward. It was a long day of barren fiction between Fielding and Scott; a long day between Scott, Thackeray and George Eliot, and since George Eliot the quality of English fic tion has steadily declined, so that pop ular taste seems to be divided between the wildly sensational school of "out door" adventure represented by Rider Haggard and the morbid school of Hall Calne, who is the shrill voice of sexual sentimentality, whose heroines are madcap women, prone to make rash, mean marriages, and then sure to go to the devil as soon as they find what they are persuaded Is their true affin ity. To do Haggard Justice, his novels are healthy. They are as Incredible and as Innocuous as a sailor's "yam" told to beguile a voyage, or a soldier's fairy story Invented to while away the mo notony of camp or garrison life. Hag gard has palled upon the popular taste, and even Kipling, with far more orig inal genius and artistic power than Haggard, Is beginning to grow stale. Soon ripe, soon rotten. Is likely to be the fate of Kipling. Bret Harte never gave us anything as good as his first book. "The Luck of Roaring Camp," and Kipling has never given us any thing -as good as his "Soldiers Three." Bret Harte, away from his first liter ary environment of California In the days of ,M9, always walks with an awk ward and languid stride, and so Kip ling, removed from British India, writes like a man of superior talent, but with out a spark of the genius that Irradi ated his short Indian sketches and poems. The distance between men of the stature of Walter Scott in fiction and men like Bret Harte, Haggard and Kipling, Is proved by their limitations. Harte can tell admirably what he saw and part of which he was In Califor nia; Haggard writes with remarkable dramatic and picturesque power of ex ternals In South Africa, where he served as a soldier, and so does Kipling of India; but all three recall the mis take the swan made, which, when com plimented upon her beautiful motion on the water, left her natural element to prove that she was equally graceful on land. The swan's failure has passed Into a proverb, and if Haggard, Harte and Kipling had never left their native pool, the world would not have found out what it knows today that they are not literary amphibians. The supremacy of Scott over these novelists, who can onlj tell what they have seen and lived, re sided In his fine imagination, which en abled him to weave a beautiful story out of scenes he bad never visited and concerning folk he had never seen. Thackeray had the same fine historical imagination, for his "Henry Esmond" Is as good a bit of work as Scott's "Kehllworth." "Old Mortality" or "Woodstock," but Haggard, Harte and even Kipling belong to a school of fic tion of which Dickens stands at tho head. Dickens was a man of genius with the training of a reporter, and the temperament of an actor. Dickens was a "Bohemian" of genius and a man of enormous industry. He told, like Bret Harte and Kipling, admirably what he had seen and been a part of, and when ever he tried to do more than this he fell very flat, and so does Kipling. Lowell said of Cooper that he drew one great, original character. Leather Stocking, and all his other noteworthy characters were nothing but Leather Stocking in another garb. Long Tom Coffin was Leather Stocking In a sail or's togs, while the noble Indian, Chin gachcook, was nothing but Leather Stocking painted red. This Is equally true of Kipling. He has added "Terence Mulvaney" to the roll of immortal characters In English Action, and "Terence Mulvaney" and the kind of human nature that he stands for Is as much the highest reach of Kipling's genius as Leather Stocking Is of Cooper's. The Influence of Kip ling, so far as he has any Influence, is evil, because it is the apotheosis of the grossly animal and Inhuman side of English character. A keen French critic fairly says of Kipling: "The very water seems to come Into the mouths of his favorite characters, the soldiery in the colonies, when they tell each other their different methods of killing. All the methods seem equally good to Kipling. The sole virtue that he recognizes Is force, whether It con cerns an Individual, a machine or an empire." Of course, such a man could no more draw the picture of a really fine woman, like "Maggie Tulllver," than could Carlyle, had he tried his hand at Action, for Kipling and Carlyle so com pletely worship the gospel of force that a really noble woman has no charms for them, since she Is not a fighting animal. Harriet Martlneau shrewdly said that nobody could read "Vanity Fair" without suspecting that Its au thor had never enjoyed the friendship and confidence of a really flne-spirlted, noble-minded woman. If "Vanity Fair" excited this suspicion, the reading of Kipling makes it certain that he never knew a really fine woman long enough to draw her picture. But the French critic, while deploring Kipling's moral limitations, confesses that "whatever happens, he will remain the one writer. original and modern among all others, who has known how to seize the ele ment of beauty in our practical life to transform the hissing of steam Into music" There Is rare consistency among the Seattle and Tacoma papers In their pol icy regarding the upbuilding of Amer ica's merchant marine. The suggestion by The Oregonlan that perhaps the best plan for meeting the competition of the foreigner was to follow his .methods and buy ships where they were the cheapest, met with a roar of indigna tion from the subsidy graft advocates on the Sound. Some Seattle men re cently purchased an ancient British steamer, called the Garonne, and placed her on the run between Puget Sound and Honolulu. With the fear that the American navigation laws would be extended to Hawaii, and thus shut the Garonne out of that trade, they made a great fight and finally suc ceeded In securing American registry for the vessel. Was there any vigor ous objection raised by the Seattle and Tacoma papers to this admission of a detested ""free ship"? If so, it has been delayed in. transmission. The Garonne was needed to handle the Increasing business of Puget Sound. Her owners sold her to the Seattle men at a lower price than they could have secured a similar American vessel for under the American flag, and the United States In general and Puget Sound In particular gained by the transaction. If the same course was pursued with other ships needed in handling the wheat and lum ber of Oregon and Washington, the produoers of these states would soon have the satisfaction of seeing their products go foreign in American ships which would stand In no need of a subsidy. Does Portland,want a park commis sion? The question is to be determined at the approaching June election. The proposed scheme of reposing govern ment of the park system In the hands of an Independent body, with full con trol of Its own finances, Is in line with the policies adopted In many Eastern cities, producing most satisfactory re sults. AH are In favor of park9 and the adornment of streets, boulevards and public and private grounds. Portland has, however, made only moderate progress in that direction of artistic external development and scientific landscape effects, and in the improve ment of places for public recreation and pleasure. Nothing advertises a city like a park. Nothing so completely discovers Us tastes, culture and spirit. Nothing can be made so pleasing and attractive to visitors. It is time that Portland seized this opportunity to do something for Its own adornment, and the comfort and pleasure of nil its peo ple. The burial today, with military hon ors, by his late comrades, of a brave soldier who fell in battle in the Phil ippines, is a gracious and fitting trib ute to pay to one whose life was offered in the service of his country. Yet there is a sentiment In connection with this that should ever be borne in mind. Honor is due every man who offered his life for his country, whether the bullets of the enemy or the hand of disease exacted the full measure of the offering or not. The men who went into battle and came out again merely wounded or completely unscathed de serve the same honor living and re spect In being laid away when dead as those who were less fortunate In the uncertainties of war, and It matters not whether the offer of their lives was made to save the Nation from destruc tion, to protect the defenseless from the scalplng-knlves of .savages, or to ad vance the cause of human- liberty in other lands. In the removal of Thomas Kay, of Salem, death called away a most valu able citizen. The scope of his activities covered various parts of Western Ore gon, but was always confined to the one particular industry of which he had expert knowledge the manufacture of woolen goods. For nearly thirty years he was an important figure in recent years the most Important, with one ex ceptionIn the development of our lo cal woolen manufacturing industry, the towns of Brownsville. Dallas, Ashland, Waterloo and Salem having experi enced the benefits of his practical knowledge and keen-sighted enterprise. It appears to be the fact that, while woolen mills in various places lan guished and finally failed for want of trained oversight and competent direc tion, the Kay mills were uniformly suc cessful. His death is, therefore, a real loss to the state. Newspapers are not morally as good as they should be. Neither are men. Some newspapers and many men are a great deal worse than they ought to be, and are proper subjects for refor mation. But the way to do It for the former Is not to turn them over to run as Jesus would have run them. The Topeka experiment proved nothing be yond the fact that Brother Sheldon didn't know the newspaper business; but he did know his own business, which was to get the greatest possible personal advertisement out of It. That lead Is now about worked out. No won der similar enterprises excite only lan guid interest. A real live variation of a scheme now threadbare would be to turn a religious Journal over to a secu lar Journalist to show Its readers how It ought to be conducted. Ei-en Baker County gives strong symptoms of a purpose to go Republi can this Fall. The great influx of min ers to Sumpter Is one of the Influences to bring It about. Baker has been a bulwark of silver; but we await with confidence and serenity' the news that Sumpter has fallen. AssIstantSecretary Melklejohn wants further data as to the unjust and harm ful Philippine tariff. In the dull lexi con of torpid bureaucracy, there's no other word but data. Never action but under extreme pressure. Negro minstrelsy may not be a thing ul uie yusL, um na Junes ure. v Heavy College Expenses, Indianapolis Journal. "Isn't your son's college education ex pensive?" "Oh, very. You see, he has tchave sli ver monograms on every baseball bat ho owns." i j . i -- TBE OLD ROUNDER'S RETURN. He'Distributes a, Few Pearls of Wiidom on Politics. An old acquaintance of The Oregonlan readers turned up In Portland the other day. He was the Old Rounder, who was more oc less conspicuous in- the Senatorial fight of 1895 and the campaign of 1S36 In this state. He Joined the Klondike rush In 1597, and went north to commune with the Aurora Borealla. The net results of his Arctic experience appear to con sist mainly of an enriched vocabulary, a. deeper dye on his Illuminating pose and a more consuming thirst. No sooner bad he returned than he made a round-up at Bat Bowerrf palace of refreshment. "Tve Just emerged from the waller of the shadder of Dawson," he said. "Daw son's a unbumed Sodom of sorrer and a baleful Gomorrer of busted cheechawkers. When I laid aside the oneryous burdens of state here and went a-chasln rain bows, I could see the pearly gates wide open for me at the North Pole. But now I'm wise. I'm next. Portland's a good enough Summer resort for me. I don't want to be the Ice man." "Humph! we thought you'd gone galli vanting off to fight the oppressed niggers in them Phllipptny Islands," remarked Bat. "I ain't lost no Islands," replied the Rounder. "The dusky descendant of my late friend Ham may be a man an brother, but I ain't hankerln' after mlxln' up In bio family affairs. I'm will In' to leave them troubles .to the Major and Cousin George, to settle with their break fast. 'Fire when you're ready, Grldley. Bays Cousin George, -IS minutes before the breakfast gong sent a shivery thrill around the world; and wo've been a-cx-pandltf on a empty stomach every since. Speakln of expansion, I'm a desert is land myeelf. surrounded by wlslons of beautiful bottled sperrits an nary a drop to feed tho serpent, which Ftlngeth like an adder and biteth like a Klondike mo keeter. Does any gent feel disposed to cloud up and rain a few fragrant drops on a fanrlshln' archypelygo?" The sympathetic Mr. Bowers Invited the orator to imbibe, which he did copiously. "Well," he continued, "I see that George Is up agin" the cold outride." "His wife done it," said General Klll feather. "Oh, mathremunny, what ap palm deeds Is done in thy name." And being thus inspired, the eloquent KIll f either continued: O realm of bliss, O habitation Wherein 'tis granted to the good to dwell. Most blessed of the things of God's creation Where Hymen weaves his sweet enchanting spell. Full many years I kpew the perfect pleasure Of feeding- fuel to the nuptial flame. And since I've spent an awful lot of leisure In wishing that I hadn't ever came. "Of course, that ain't facte. That's Jest poetry," be concluded. "Married, eh!" remarked the Rounder. "Well, no thin' but a Queen of Sheeby out riggcred like Solomon in all his glory, or a bloomln' Looloo of thoWlllymetto Val ley could ketch George. I s'poee Little Joe will bo Inveigled up the orange blossom steps of -the matrimonyul halter next. In the Spring the young maid's fancy fondly turns to turtle doves; In the Spring the young man's fancy lightly turns to beer and cloves. When did tho hobse quies heverrtuate?" The bold and dashing Admiral, A famous man was he. But when he met that gay old gal 'He struck his colors, see? For Dewey In Manila Bay Fought Spaniards most amaztn. But he was licked that fatal day He wedded WIdder Hazen. Responded Klllfeather. "I ain't a-talkin about our lnwlndbla and all-conquerin hero who, while he was a shovln' one Iron heel down the gaspln" throat of General Weylec was a-Uetenln' to the seductlvo tones of Cupid with tno other," was tho response. "I mean George W. McB.; our George; Georgy. Well, I reckon they haven't got time between snores to dream love's young dream down In Columbia County. As I was sayin', George Is o-holdln' the pack. I went to seen Jack Matthews t'other day, and, eez I: " "Well, Jack, mark me present. Am I in the gamer "T halnt examined your credentials,' sez Jack. 'The hobo annex to our cam paign Is full,' eez he. " 'Don't get gay. Jack, sex I. Tm the man that elected Georgy In '95, sez I. " 'Ha! sez Jack. 'I've always been a laborin under a strong and abidln' Illusion that It was me.' " 'Look here. Jack, sez I, 'did you ever hear the cellybrated discussion on plagyr Ism between Cap. Humphrey and Lisa Applegute?" " 'No,' eez he. " 'Well, Jack eez I, Til tell it to you. to point a lovely moral, and adorn my o'ertrue tale,' sez I. Then I tells Jack the followin' touchin' narrative: " 'Cap. sez Llsh, 'I have made up my mind to disclose to your startled ears the one dark and horrible secret of my life. Cap., did you ever hear the affectln poem, "Beautiful Snow?"' " 1 have, sez Cap. 'Many a time; many a tune.' "Well. Cap., sez Llsh, dld you ever hear who wroto "Beautiful Snow?" ' "No, sir, I never did,' sez Cap. The name of the author Is locked in the ahsees of oblyvyun," eez Cap. "Well, Cap. sez Llsh. 'I'm the man that wrote "Beautiful Snow." " "Great snokca of Santlnml' sez Cap, "Who'd a thought it! Well, now, look here, Llsh. I believe to the good old max im of exchangln' confidence for confi dence. I will also throw the electric search- Ights on the dreadful mystery of my life. Id you over hear the magnificent poem ,-begInnin: The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold; id his cohorts were gleaming- wltb purple ana gold." Tes, I've heero it, eez Llsh. 'What f it?' " 'Well, L!sh, sez Cap., a-lowerin" his rolce into a stagey whisper, 'do you know ho wrota It?" Come to think of It,' sez Llsh. T n't. " 'Well, Llsh,' sez Cap., 'I'm the man that wrote "The Assyrian Came Down." ' 'Looky here. Cap!' sez Llsh, a-gettm mighty wrathy, and a-shakin' his nst nder Cap's nose; 'mebbe you think I .dnt write "Beautiful Snow?" 'An' mebbe you think I didn't write The Assyrian Came Down?" remarked Cap. An" so the Incident closed, as the story books says. 'Now, Jack, I sez. 'mebbe you don't see the point to that ere story; but I do,' eez I, and I walks off. Well, what was the point of it?" asked Klllfeather. "The point of that weradous epic from the unwritten pages of history lies in tho happllcatlon of it. to-wlt, viz.: Whereas, the authorities differs about how George got his start for the sanctus soncloryum of the .Senate, but Ujere ain't no question about his finish." . .Ot-jfc4 L . V1 MASTERPIECES OF LITERATORE-XI "Elegy Written fn a Country Churchyard" Thomas Cray. The curfew tolls the knell of parting day. The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea. The ploughman homeward plods his weary war. And leaves the world io darkness and to me. IL Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight. And all the air a solemn stillness holds. Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight. And drowsy Unkings lull the distant folds. III. Save that from yonder Ivy-mantled tower The moping owl does to the moon complain Of such as, wandering near her secret bower. Molest her ancient solitary reign. rv. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree'a shade. Where heaves tha turf in many a mouldering heap, Each In his narrow cell for ever laid. The rude forefathers of the. hamlet sleep. The. breezy call of tncenae-brrathlng morn. The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed. The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing com. No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. VL 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. VIL 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! VIIL Let not Ambition mock their useful toll. Their homely Joys, and destiny obscure; Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the Poor. IX. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power. And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike th Inevitable hour The paths cf glory lead but to the grave. X. Nor you. ye Proud, Impute to theso the fault If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise. Where through the long-drawn aisle and frette4 vault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise, XI. Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust. Or riattery soothe the dull, cold ear of Death? XII. Perhaps In this neglected spot Is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial Are; Hands, that the rod of empire might hava sway'd. Or waked to testacy the living- lyre. XIII. But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unrollj Chill Penury repressed their noble rage. And froze the genial current of the soul. XIV. Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark, urrfathom'd caves of ocean bear; Full many a flower Is born to blush unseen. And waste Its sweetness on the desert air. XV. 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. XVL Th applause of llst'nlng senates to command. The threats of pain and ruin to despise. To scatter plenty o'er a rmlilng land. And read their history In a nation's eyes XVII. Their lot forbade: nor circumscribed alone Their growing virtues; but their crimes con fined; Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne. And shut the gates of mercy on mankind; XVIII. The struggling pangs of conscious truth to, hide. To quench the blushes of Ingenuous shame. Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride With lncenso kindled at the Muse's flame. XIX. Far from the madding crowd's Ignoble strife Their sober wishes never learn' d to stray; Along the cool sequesterd vale of life They kept tho noiseless tenour of their way. XX. Yet e'en 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. XXI. Their name, their years, spelt by th' unlettered Muse, The place of fame and elegy supply; And many a holy text around she strews That teach the rustic moralist to die. XXII. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey. This pleasing anxious being e'er resigned. Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day. Nor cast one longing. llngfrjagjlcolr.bihlnd? XXIII. On some fond breast the parting soul relies. Some pious drops the closing eye requires; Cen from the tomb tho voice of Nature cries, E'en In our ashes live their wonted Ores. XXTV. For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonord dead. Dost In these lines their artless tale relate; It chance, by lonely Contemplation led. Some kindred spirit shall Inquire thy fate, XXV. Haply some hoary-headed swain may say. Oit have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away. To meet the sun upon the upland lawn; xxvn 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. XXVIL Hard by yon wood, now smiling as In scorn. Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove: Now drooping, woeful-wan, like one forlorn. Or crazed with care,, or cross'd In hopeless love. xxvin. One morn I mrw'd him on the custom'd hilt. Along the heath, and near his favourite tree: Another came; nor yet beside the rill. Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he. XXIX. The next with dirges due In sad array Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay Craved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn. THE EPITAPH. XXX. Here rests his bead upon the lap of Earth A Youth, to Fortune and to Fame unknowns Fair Science frown' d not on .hla humble birth. And Melancholy markM him for her own. XXXL Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere; Heaven did a recompense as largely send; He gave to Misery all he had. a tear. He galn'd from Heaven, 'twas all be wlsh'd. a friend. XXXII. 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.