Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard Summary The speaker is hanging out in a churchyard just after the sun goes

down. It's dark and a bit spooky. He looks at the dimly lit gravestones, but none of the grave markers are all that impressivemost of the people buried here are poor folks from the village, so their tombstones are just simple, roughly carved stones. The speaker starts to imagine the kinds of lives these dead guys probably led. Then he shakes his finger at the reader, and tells us not to get all snobby about the rough monuments these dead guys have on their tombs, since, really, it doesn't matter what kind of a tomb you have when you're dead, anyway. And guys, the speaker reminds us, we're all going to die someday. But that gets the speaker thinking about his own inevitable death, and he gets a little freaked out. He imagines that someday in the future, some random guy (a "kindred spirit") might pass through this same graveyard, just as he was doing today. And that guy might see the speaker's tombstone, and ask a local villager about it. And then he imagines what the villager might say about him. At the end, he imagines that the villager points out the epitaph engraved on the tombstone, and invites the passerby to read it for himself. So basically, Thomas Gray writes his own epitaph at the end of this poem. 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.

So, right off the bat we have some vocab to sort out in this poem. The "curfew" is a bell that rings at the end of the day, but a "knell" is a bell that rings when someone dies. So it's like the "parting day" is actually dying. Sounds like a metaphor! The mooing herd of cows makes its winding way over the meadow ("lea" = "meadows") And the tired farmer clomps on home. Now that the cows and the farmer are out of the picture, the speaker gets everything in the world to himself (he has to share it with the growing darkness, but that's not so bad). Notice that the speaker refers to himself in the first person right away in that first stanza: the parting farmer and cows leave "the world [] to me." This would be a good time to note that the poet often removes vowels and replaces them with an apostrophe, like "o'er" instead of "over" in the second line. If you ever notice an odd-looking word with an apostrophe in it, try replacing the apostrophe with a letter to make a familiar word. Gray makes these contractions to make the number of syllables fit the iambic pentameter. While we're talking about form, we'll also point out the rhyme scheme hereit's ABAB. For more on the poem's meter and rhyme scheme, check out the "Form and Meter" section.

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;

So what's happening, exactly? The "glimm'ring landscape" is fading from the poet's sight. Must be sunset, but we knew that from the first stanza. The air is quiet, too, except for the buzz of the occasional beetle and the tinkling bells hanging around the necks of livestock in their "folds" (a.k.a. barns). Sounds peaceful and sleepy, like everything is winding down. There are some interesting literary devices in these lines, too: "solemn stillness" is a great example of alliteration, and the speaker personifies the "tinkling" of the bells when he says that they're "drowsy." Go to the "Symbols" section for more on these literary tools!

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.

Here are some more exceptions to the overall peace and quiet: the bent-out-of-shape owl is hooting. More figurative language here! The speaker uses metaphor to describe the tower where the owl lives as "ivy-mantled." (A "mantle" is a kind of cloak or coat, so the speaker is saying that the tower is dressed up in ivy. Cool!) Because the title of the poem says that it was "written in a country churchyard," we can guess that the "tower" mentioned here is probably the church tower. But the speaker doesn't just say that there's an owl hootinghe uses some more figurative language. He personifies the owl when he says that it's "moping" and "complaining," since those are things a person would do, not an owl. And what's the mopey owl complaining about? Apparently, he's complaining that there's an outsider nearbysomeone who is wandering near her private digs (a "bower" is a lady's private room) and bothering her solitude. Who is that outsider? Sounds like the owl is probably complaining about the presence of the speaker himself! (And we're just assuming the speaker is a "he.")

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.

This stanza is all one long sentence, and the sentence structure is a bit wacky, so let's try to sort it out. The subject and the verb of the sentence are way down there in the last line of the stanza: "The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep." Hold upthe speaker isn't saying that the ancestors of the town (a "hamlet" is a tiny town, not an omelet with ham in it!) are impolite. "Rude" is used to describe someone who was from the country. Someone who wasn't sophisticated, and who was maybe a bit of a bumpkin. So the forefathers being described here are probably just simple country folks, not discourteous, impolite jerks.

So what are these country forefathers of the hamlet doing? They're sleeping. Sounds peaceful, right? Except, look at the third line of the stanzathey're not sleeping at home in their beds. They're sleeping in narrow cells, and they're laid in there forever. Sounds like they're sleeping in only a metaphorical sense. These guys are dead and lying in their graves in the churchyard! The first two lines of the poem set the scene. These graves are under elm and yew trees, and there are piles of turf on each one. So we're not just hanging out outside of a church as the sun goes down. We're actually hanging out in the graveyard. Spooky!

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.

If you hadn't figured it out from the previous stanza, the speaker wants to clarify that the sleeping guys are not going to wake up. Here's how he explains it: The first three lines of this stanza list different things that normally would wake a person up (at least, in the days before alarm clocks and cell phones). (1) The delicious smells of the breeze first thing in the morning ("incense" is a substance that you burn to make a room smell good). (2) Birds twittering and singing in their straw nests. (3) The rooster's cock-a-doodle-doo ("clarion" = "alarm"), or the echoes of a horn blown by a hunter or a shepherd. Having listed all those things in the first three lines, the speaker tells us that none of those things are going to wake up the dead guys anymore. Okay, speaker! We get it! They're dead, not just sleeping!

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.

Now the speaker is listing the kinds of day-to-day pleasures that these dead guys in the graveyard aren't going to get to enjoy anymore. So many lists! (1) No one is burning the hearth fire for them anymore. (2) No housewife is trying to take care of him after he gets home from work in the evenings. (3) No little kids are yelling, "Daddy's home!" when he gets back from work. (A few vocab clarifications on this one: since little kids don't enunciate clearly, poets used to describe children's speech as "lisping," and "sire" means "father.") (4) No little kids climb up onto his lap for kisses that would make their siblings envy them. Wow, the speaker is really piling up the reasons it's a total bummer to be dead. Those poor dead guys in the graveyard! They're really missing out!

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!

Now the speaker imagines the kinds of things these guys did back when they were still alive. These are country folks, remember (since they were described as "rude," and since we know from the title that this is a "countrychurchyard"), so they were farmers. They often harvested their crops with their sickles (a sickle is a curved knife, like this). More farmer lingo in this line: the "furrow" is a long, narrow, shallow hole that you drop seeds into. "Glebe" is an archaic word for farmland. Farmers would cut the furrow into the glebe using a plough, but if the ground is really hard to break into, you might describe it as "stubborn." Here's a pic of a plough cutting a furrow. The speaker imagines that the farmers were cheerful, or jocund, as they drove their teams of oxen or mules into the field to plough. The woods bowed to the stroke of their axes as they cleared forests to make their farms. More personification! Even if you're really handy with an axe, the trees aren't going to bow down to you out of respect. They're just going to fall over.

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.

More figurative language, y'all! The speaker personifies Ambition and Grandeur in these lines. You can tell because (a) he capitalizes them, as though they were proper nouns or names, and also because he says that they're doing stuff ("mocking" and "hearing") that only people do. So, what's the deal with that personification? The speaker is telling the readers that they shouldn't mock the hard work, or the homely, simple pleasures, or the unsung, "obscure" destinies of the poor farmers in the graveyard. But he doesn't come out and tell the readers to lay off the mockeryinstead, he says that they shouldn't allow "Ambition" to mock them. He's sort of displacing the blame. Regular people wouldn't mock these honest guys only Ambition would be that cruel. Maybe he doesn't want the readers to feel as though he's shaking a finger at them, even though he kind of is. Same deal with the second two lines of the stanza: the speaker says that we shouldn't allow "Grandeur," or high social status, to smile disdainfully or scornfully at the day-to-day accounts ("annals") of poor people. Again, though, it seems like the speaker is personifying "Grandeur" to take the edge off of this stanza so that it won't sound like he's scolding the readers. (Rule Number 1 of Writing: If you want to earn money from your writing, you probably shouldn't attack the audience or make them feel bad about themselves.)

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.

Aha. Here's the real reason why the speaker doesn't want proud, ambitious, grand people to make fun of the poor people in the churchyard: it's because we're all heading there someday, too! Here are a few nitty-gritty vocab notes before we start unraveling the sentence structure of these lines: "Heraldry" is the coat of arms associated with old, aristocratic families. Families with a coat of arms would embroider it on everything from their servants' coats to the outside of their carriage to the screen in front of the fireplace. Check out this example. "Pomp" means proud, meaningless ceremonybasically, any ceremony designed to make people feel important but that doesn't really convey any meaning. Last one: "inevitable" means unavoidable. Phew. Okay. Now let's get back to the summary! The speaker starts with a list (this guy seems to be fond of lists). Here we go: 1) Bragging about your family's heraldry, 2) The empty ceremony of being in a position of power, and 3) The beauty that can be obtained from wealthall of those things are waiting for the unavoidable, inevitable time. What time, you ask? Yep, you guessed it: all of those paths lead only to the GRAVE.

Lines 37-40 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.

The speaker has more advice to proud, rich, hoity-toity people: He addresses them as "ye proud," and tells them not to blame ("impute [] the fault") these dead poor dead people if they don't have fancy monuments ("trophies") over their graves. More personification! Again, it's like the speaker is displacing blame. He says that "Memory" failed to put up fancy trophies or monuments, but really, wouldn't that be the responsibility of the families of the dead people? But of course, the dead guys in the churchyard are mostly poor farmers, so obviously their families wouldn't be able to afford a fancy marble monument in the church itself. So, the speaker shifts the blame onto the personified "Memory." The last two lines of the stanza describe the church itselfthe place where the monuments might be displayed. The bell that marks the passing of a member of the church "peals" in praise of his or her life all through the aisles of the church and up to its high, arched ("vaulted"), ornamentally carved ("fretted") ceiling.

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?

This stanza is a pair of rhetorical questions. The speaker is still addressing the proud, hoity-toity readersthe ones that, he imagines, might have mocked the lowly farmers in the churchyard back in stanza 7. He asks them whether a fancy-schmancy urn (a container to hold a dead person's remains) or a really life-like bust (a statue of a person's head and shoulders, in this case to commemorate a dead person) could call the breath back to a dead person and make him breathe again. Except he doesn't say so quite that directlyhe uses a metaphor. The dead person's body is a "mansion," and the speakerpersonifies the urn and the bust, asking if they can call the dead person's breath back to the mansion of their body. Phew, that's a mouthful! Second rhetorical question: the speaker asks if the voice of "Honour" (another personification!) can provoke the silent, dusty remains of a dead person to speak again, or whether Flattery (another personification!) can make the cold ear of Death (yet another personification!) feel better about being dead. (The answer to both of those rhetorical questions, obviously, is "No, of course not!")

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.

Now the speaker is reflecting on what type of person might be lying in the unmarked graves in the churchyard Maybe, in the churchyard, there lies a person whose heart was once full ("pregnant" means full, here) of what the speaker calls "celestial fire." Huh. What could that mean? Sounds like a metaphor to us, since no one's heart is literally full of fire, celestial or otherwise. "Celestial fire" must be a metaphor for passion. Maybe, in the churchyard, there lies a person whose hands could have ruled an empire. Or someone whose hands could have played a lyre (a kind of old-school harp) so well that the lyre would have become conscious. That's playing a mean 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.

Yep, that's another personification in the first linethe capitalized noun probably tipped you off. "Knowledge" is the subject of this sentence, but where's the verb? The sentence structure is wacky. Let's try to untangle it. Let's seeif we rearrange the sentence so that it's in a more usual structure, here's what it would look like: "Knowledge ne'er (never) did unroll her ample page, [which is] rich with the spoils of time, to their eyes."

Okay, now that's starting to make more sense, but there's ametaphor there that needs more unraveling. Let's check it out. It's as though Knowledge is a big collection of pages, and, as time goes on, those pages get filled with more and more informationthat's what the speaker calls the "spoils of time." ("Spoils" means "plunder" or "loot.") But these poor guys in the graveyard never had access to all the knowledge history had to offerthose pages were never "unrolled" "to their eyes." And why? Because poverty ("penury"= poverty) held back the noble parts of their characterstheir passion, even their rage. More personification! "Penury" is being treated like a personit's the thing that repressed and froze the dead people's potential. And another metaphor, too: imagine that a person's soul is a river. Well, poverty can freeze up the current of your soul-river. This is a bummer, but the speaker might have a point. Let's read on

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.

Wait, why are we talking about gems and flowers now? Must be more metaphor. Let's take a closer look: "Full many" is just an eighteenth-century phrase that means "lots of." So, lots of beautiful, pure gems are hidden away in dark caves under the ocean. And lots of flowers come into blushing bloom without a human to see and appreciate their beauty or their sweet scent. This stanza is about unsung heroes, like the guys buried in the churchyard without monuments or "trophies," and both the gems and the flowers are metaphors for people who do awesome stuff that doesn't get recognized. Fun fact! These lines get quoted in Emma by Jane Austen, by the irritatingly self-important Mrs. Elton. Could be a sign that Austen, like Wordsworth, thought that Gray's poetry was too formal and stilted, since a character like Mrs. Elton is not exactly known for her good taste in literature. Of course, we love Thomas Gray, so this is one instance when we disagree with both Wordsworth and Austen!

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.

The speaker muses that there might be dead people buried here that could have been famous revolutionaries or poets, but they died unknown and undiscovered. Maybe there was some village-version of John Hampden who stood up to tyranny on the village green!

(Historical side note: the real John Hampden was a Puritan politician who opposed the policies of King Charles I. He refused to pay a tax he thought was unfair. So Gray calls him "dauntless," or "fearless," for standing up to the "little tyrant," or the king.) Or maybe there was someone as brilliant as John Milton (you know, the guy who wrote Paradise Lost), but he died mute, without being able to express his brilliance. Or maybe there was someone who would have wreaked as much havoc as Cromwell, but who didn't have a chance. Another historical note! Oliver Cromwell was the leader of the anti-royalists during the English Civil War, helped bring about the execution of King Charles I, and became head of the short-lived English Commonwealth in 1649-1660. He wasn't a popular guy in the history books at the time Gray was writing. Another fun fact! Both Hampden and Milton were from the same area of England where Gray was writing his "Elegy." So maybe Gray liked to imagine that the same area could have produced other guys who were just as brilliant, but who remained unknown.

Lines 61-65 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: []

We've been going through the poem one stanza at a time, but things get a bit too wacky here, and here's why: notice how Stanza 16 ends with a comma, and not a period? Yeah, we did, too. The sentence actually carries over between stanzas! This is called enjambment, and it can trip you up if you're not careful. Okay, so if we unravel the weird sentence structure, we can figure out what's going on here. You actually have to start at the end: The dead villagers in the graveyard are replaced with the pronoun "Their" in line 65. The dead villagers' situation, or "lot," kept them from receiving ("commanding") the applause and approval of politicians. Their situation also made it impossible for them to blow off threats of pain and ruin. Nor could they spread good stuff ("plenty") all over the country, even though that would win them a place in the history books in the eyes of their countrymen. Nope, the villagers were poor and died unknown because of their poverty, or "penury," as the speaker calls it in Stanza 13.

Lines 65-72 [] nor circumscrib'd alone Their growing virtues, but their crimes confin'd; Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind, The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride With incense kindled at the Muse's flame.

Again, we have to combine two stanzas because the sentence continues across the stanza breakmore enjambment! Not only does the poverty of the villagers prevent ("circumscribe" = prevent) them from developing the virtues that would get them remembered in the history books, it also keeps them from committing crimes. Here are some examples of the crimes these poor villagers just don't have time to commit, since they're busy working to put food on the table: They don't have time to wade through blood and gore to kill a king on his throne, or to act all merciless to people. Another metaphor there! Slamming the "gates of mercy" is a metaphor for being merciless. (Try to work that one into everyday conversation. You can tell your athlete friends to "shut the gates of mercy" on the other team!) The villager's lot in life keeps them from trying to hide the truth, especially when the truth is struggling and conscious of BEING the truth. Their situation likewise keeps them from trying to hide their blushes. After all, a blush indicates that you're ashamed of something, right? So if you hide your blushes, you're hiding your true feelings. So this one goes along with the previous line. "Ingenuous" means innocent. And there's more metaphor here. You know how when you blush, your face feels hot? We talk about "quenching" flame, so here, the blush is the metaphorical flame that's getting "quenched." The poor villagers also don't have the chance to use fancy and flattering words to build a metaphorical shrine to the personifiedLuxury and Pride. The Muses were the goddesses in Greek and Roman mythology who were responsible for inspiring artists, musicians, and poets. So the "incense" that was lit at the Muse's flame must be a pen that is metaphorically kindled, lit up, or inspired by the Muses.

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.

Since the poor villagers who are buried in the churchyard live far away from the noise and strife of crowded cities, they never learned to stray away from more sober, serious wishes and desires. Because they live in a secluded ("sequester'd") area, they were able to live their lives without making a lot of hubbub or noise. Fun fact! Thomas Hardy, the English novelist, gives a shout-out to Thomas Gray by titling one of his novels Far from the Madding Crowd.

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.

Even though these poor villagers don't have big fancy monuments or "trophies" over their graves, they at least still have frail, flimsy memorials nearby, if only to protect their remains from the insult of having people picnic or play cricket on their graves. These flimsy memorials aren't made out of fancy marblethey just have rough, shapeless sculptures to ornament ("deck") them, and are decorated with crude, uncouth poetry. But even though the memorials aren't all fancy, they still inspire passersby to pause long enough to sigh. So there!

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.

The "frail" monuments (78) are engraved only with the dead people's name and the years of their birth and death, and even this simple inscription was clearly made by someone who was largely illiterate, or "unlettered." The speaker uses irony when he says that inscription was made by a "muse." Since the muses were goddesses of poetry, how could they be unlettered or illiterate? These simple inscriptions take the place of fame and fancy elegies (poems written in memory of dead people). "She" is the muse referred to in the previous line. The "unlettered muse" also adds ("strews") the occasional Bible verse ("holy text") that inspires country folks to think about death so that they'll be prepared when their time comes.

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?

After all, the speaker asks, who is going to give up ("resign") their life ("being"), which is both pleasing and anxious, or to leave the warm environment of the earth, without looking behind them at what they leave behindespecially someone who, like the villagers, is going to be forgotten when he or she is dead? We get another metaphor here in line 85, and some morepersonification, too! Being forgotten when you're dead is like being hunted down as the "prey" of a predator called "Forgetfulness." Sounds scary! Finally, we get more alliteration here, with the repeated beginning L sound in "longing, ling'ring look."

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.

Even simple, poor, country folks like the villagers in the churchyard depend on their loved ones as they die (or as their souls "part" from the world). They need some pious, religious friend or neighbor to close their eyes for them as they die. It's only natural, after allit's the "voice of Nature" (yep, "Nature" isyou guessed it being personified!). That voice of Nature calls out from the grave, and the villagers' accustomed passions (their "wonted fires") live on in their ashes, or their remains.

Lines 93-100 For thee, who mindful of th' unhonour'd Dead Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; If chance, by lonely contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, "Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.

Look, gang, more enjambment! The same sentence continues across a stanza break, so we'll look at both stanzas at once. The speaker refers to himself in these lineshe's calling himself "thee." (Fun grammar fact: most modern readers think of "thee" and "thou" as an old-fashioned, fancy-pants version of "you." But no! It's not fancy-pants at all! "Thee" and "thou" were actually informal or more intimate versions of "you." Like French, Spanish, and many other languages that have two versions of "you," English used to have a formal and an informal way of saying "you." And it makes sense that if the poet is addressing himself, he'd use the more informal way of doing so.) Okay, so what's our speaker actually saying to himself? He's saying that he is aware ("mindful") of the dead people who haven't been honored with lots of monuments, so he's memorializing them in these very lines of poetry. Then the speaker wonders what would happen if some random kindred spirit, who happened to be musing on similar things (i.e., death), might ask about the speaker's fate. He answers this question in the next stanza, and with somealliteration thrown in while he's at it ("Haply some hoary-headed" and "swain [] say")! Probably some gray-haired ("hoary-headed") farmer guy ("swain") would say that they had often seen the speaker hurrying through the dew-covered grass to watch the sun come up on the meadow 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.

The speaker continues to imagine what the "hoary-headed swain" would say about him, if a random passerby happened to ask.

He imagines the old guy saying that at noon, the speaker used to stretch out at the foot of the old beech treethe one that has fantastically weird rootsand that he would stare at the babbling brook. "Listless length" in line 103 is another great example ofalliteration.

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.

This stanza continues with what the speaker imagines an old villager would say about him after he was dead and gone. He imagines the old guy saying that the speaker used to rove, or wander, in the nearby woods. Sometimes, the speaker would smile almost scornfully, while muttering to himself, and sometimes he would look all droopy and mopey, pale ("wan") with sorrow, like he was anxious or else hopelessly in love with someone who didn't love him back. Good times!

Lines 109-112 "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 speaker continues to imagine what the old villager might say about him after he's dead and gone: He imagines the villager saying that he missed seeing the speaker one morning in the usual place on a local hillside, along the fields ("heath") by the speaker's favorite tree. (This is probably the beech tree mentioned in Stanza 26.) The villager goes on to say that another day passed, and yet he still didn't see the speaker by the brook ("rill") or on the grass, or by the woods. Sounds like something's up

Lines 113-116 "The next with dirges due in sad array Slow thro' the church-way path we saw him borne. Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn."

The speaker continues to imagine what an old villager would say about him after his death: And on the third day after the speaker didn't show up, the old villager says that dirges (funeral songs) were played, and that they saw the speaker carried slowly along the path to the church in a funeral procession. The villager invites the random passerby who asked (the "kindred spirit" of line 96) to read the epitaph that is engraved on the speaker's tombstone, underneath the gnarly old thornbush.

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.

Now we're supposed to imagine that we, like the "kindred spirit" who asked about the dead speaker, are reading Thomas Gray's imagined epitaph. Morbid? Yes. But kind of cool, we have to admit. Let's see what it says This is where the speaker is resting his head on the ground. Yes, that's a metaphor! Dead people don't really "rest their heads" anywherethey're dead, after all. And "Earth" is beingpersonified when the speaker imagines that it could have a "lap." The speaker calls himself a young person who is unknown both to Fortune (i.e., good luck or wealthit could mean either) and to Fame. In other words, he was of humble birth. But at least he was no stranger to knowledge, or science, in spite of his humble origins. He was a scholar and a poet! But, alas, he was sometimes kinda depressed. We get more personification here, tooyou can tell because all those nouns (Fame, Fortune, Science, Melancholy) are capitalized.

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.

He might have had humble beginnings, but he did pretty well for himselfhe was generous and sincere, and Heaven paid him back (sent a "recompense") for those good qualities. The speaker gave everything he had to his depression, or (aspersonified here) Miseryin other words, his tears. But Heaven gave him something pretty awesome: a friend. Fun fact: The speaker's probably referring to his BFF, Richard West (see the "In a Nutshell" section for more on that).

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.

Don't try to find out anything more about the dead speaker's good points. And don't try to dig up any dirt on his bad points, or frailties, either.

Why not, you ask? Both his good and his bad points are in "repose," or resting, hoping for eternal life, in heaven with God. That's why not.

Ecology- A.K.Ramanujan This poem, Ecology is taken from Ramanujans third volume of poems, Second Sight, published in 1986. The speaker seems to be the poet himself or some imaginary person who is loyally devoted to his mother. He is very angry because his mother has a severe attack of migraine; a very bad kind of headache, often causing a person to vomit; which is caused by the fragrance of the pollen of the flower of the Red Champak every time it is in bloom. The fragrance is heavy and suffocating as the yellow pollen spreads everywhere. Even the doors of the speakers house cannot prevent the strong smell from entering the house. The walls of the house are able to absorb almost everything-the sounds, sights, the human voices, the harsh sounds produced when new shoes are worn. But they cannot stop the fog of pollen dust from the Champak trees. The loving son therefore decides to cut down the tree, but he is prevented from doing so by his mother who sees the positive side of the tree in her garden. She says that the tree is as old as her and had been fertilized by the droppings of a passing bird by chance which is considered to be a very good omen. The positive side of it is that the tree provides many basketful of flowers to be offered to her gods and to her daughters and daughters daughters every year, although the tree would give a terrible migraine to one line of cousins as a legacy. The yellow pollen fog is the yellow dust of pollen carried in the air which is thick and heavy like fog which covers the earth. This poem portrays Ramanujans strong interest in the family as a very important theme of his poetic craft. His memories of the past would inevitably bring pictures of his family, especially his mother who is self sacrificing. There is also a reference to his Hindu heritage as he mentions the gods and the ancient beliefs in the poem. The sense of irony is indicated when the mother very angrily protests the idea of cutting down the tree even though she is suffering very badly from the migraine caused by it. She has a kind of emotional attachment to the tree, saying that it is as old as herself. Ecology is a poem which could be read as one single sentence. However, each stanza has one particular idea. There is a casual connection between the ideas and they flow from one stanza to the next. Flash her temper; an instance of the use of irony because she is very angry at the idea of having the tree cut down. The actual meaning of the word Ecology is not followed here but the poet seems to convey the thought that a particular kind of tree may have both negative and positive factors and therefore it need not be pulled down.

"Ulysses" details Ulysses' intense dissatisfaction and boredom on his island home of Ithaca. The poem is a monologue spoken by him, where he not only expresses his discontent, but also describes his desire to keep sailing. He's getting older and doesn't have a lot of time left, so he wants to get busy living rather than busy dying. The poem concludes with his resolution to "strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."

Lines 1-5
It little profits that an idle king, By this still hearth, among these barren crags, Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole Unequal laws unto a savage race, That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.

The poem begins by telling us that a king gains nothing from just sitting around by the fire with his wife and making laws for people who don't even know him. The speaker at first seems at to be some kind of observer or impersonal figure who knows a lot about how to be a king, but in line 3 we learn that the king himself, Ulysses, is speaking. The phrase "it little profits" is another way of saying, "it is useless" or "it isn't beneficial." "Mete" means "to allot" or "measure out." Here it refers to the king's allotment of rewards and punishments to his subjects. "Unequal" doesn't mean that the rewards and punishments are unjust or unfair, but rather variable. "Match'd" doesn't refer to a tennis match or other sporting event; it means something like "paired" or "partnered with." Ulysses' subjects are presented to us as a large group of drones who do nothing but eat and sleep.

Lines 6-11
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when Through scudding drifts the rainy Hyades Vexed the dim sea:

After his moralistic opening, Ulysses tells us more about why sitting around doling out rewards and punishments bores him.

We learn that he is a restless spirit who doesn't want to take a break from roaming the ocean in search of adventure. He will not let life pass him by. The word "lees" originally referred to the sediment accumulated at the bottom of a bottle of wine; to "drink life to the lees" means to drink to the very last drop. Nowadays we might say something like "live life to the fullest." Ulysses tells us that he has had a lot of good times and a lot of bad times, sometimes with his best friends, and sometimes alone, both on dry land and while sailing through potentially destructive storms. "Scudding drifts" are pounding showers of rain that one might encounter at sea during a storm or while crab fishing off the coast of Alaska. The "Hyades" are a group of stars in the constellation Taurus often associated with rain; their rising in the sky generally coincides with the rainy season. Here they are presented as agitators of the ocean.

Lines 11-18
I am become a name; For always roaming with a hungry heart Much have I seen and known cities of men And manners, climates, councils, governments, Myself not least, but honoured of them all And drunk delight of battle with my peers, Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy, I am a part of all that I have met;

Ulysses elaborates on the good times and bad times well, mostly the good times he's enjoyed during his travels. The phrase "I am become a name" means something like "become a household name." Ulysses has become famous because he's traveled to so many places. Ulysses tells us that he's visited a variety of different places, with different manners, weather, governments, etc. He portrays himself as a Renaissance traveler of sorts with an insatiable desire ("hungry heart") to see as many places as he can, try as many foods as he can, etc. The phrase "myself not least, but honoured of them all" is a little tricky. It means something like "I wasn't treated like the least little thing but was honored by everybody I met." Ulysses also describes the time he spent "on the ringing plains of windy Troy," the famous city where the Trojan War took place: you know, that famous war dramatized in the Brad Pitt movie Troy? The "plains" are "ringing" because of the armor clashing together in battle. "I am a part of all that I have met" is a strange phrase. Usually we say something like "all the places I have seen are now a part of me." The phrase suggests that Ulysses left parts of himself everywhere he went; this sounds like another way of saying "I don't belong here in Ithaca."

Lines 19-24
Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough Gleams that untravelled world, whose margin fades For ever and for ever when I move. How dull it is to pause, to make an end, To rust unburnished, not to shine in use! As though to breathe were life!

Ulysses further justifies his desire to keep traveling and living a life of adventure. He compares his life or experiences to an arch and describes the "untravelled world" as a place that "gleams" at him through that arch. All he has to do is walk through the arch The first two lines of the passage are very tricky, and we're not entirely sure what they mean. One way to read "Untravelled world" is as a reference to death; it is always looking at him through the "arch" of his experiences, but somehow seems to recede ("margin fades") as he keeps moving.

You could also think of the "Untravelled world" as an arch. As Ulysses moves, his experiences make an arch covering the arch of the "Untravelled world." The more he travels, the more the margins or edges of that world recede or are covered up. Ulysses reiterates how boring it is just sitting around when he could be out exploring the world. It's a lot like that feeling you get when you're just getting into the rhythm of things and have to stop. He likens himself to some kind of metallic instrument that is still perfectly useful and shiny but just rusts if nobody uses it, like that ancient bicycle in your garage. If Ulysses weren't a soldier, he might say he's just collecting dust. For Ulysses, life is about more than just "breathing" and going through the motions; it's about adventure.

Lines 24-32
Life piled on life Were all too little, and of one to me Little remains: but every hour is saved From that eternal silence, something more, A bringer of new things; and vile it were For some three suns to store and hoard myself, And this grey spirit yearning in desire To follow knowledge like a sinking star, Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

Ulysses continues to a radiate a desire for adventure, claiming that even multiple lifetimes wouldn't be enough for him to do all the things he wants. At this point, though, he's an old man a "grey spirit" near the end of his life, and he wants to make the most of what's left. It's a waste of time for him to hang out in Ithaca for three years when his desire for adventure is still so alive. The phrase "but every hour is saved / From that eternal silence, something more, / A bringer of new things" is strange. It means something like "each additional hour that I live, or each hour that I am saved from death, brings me new experiences." "Three suns" doesn't mean three days, but rather three years. Ulysses has apparently been wasting his time for quite a while. The phrase "follow knowledge like a sinking star" is ambiguous. On the one hand, Ulysses wants to chase after knowledge and try to catch it as it sinks like a star. On the other hand, Ulysses himself could be the "sinking star." That makes sense too; he is a great personality who is moving closer to death (though, in our opinion, he's also kind of a rock star).

Lines 33-38
This is my son, mine own Telemachus, To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil This labour, by slow prudence to make mild A rugged people, and through soft degrees Subdue them to the useful and the good.

Ulysses introduces us to his son and heir, Telemachus, who seems like the right guy to take over the job of King of Ithaca. He's smart, and he knows how to make his people do things without being too harsh about it. A "Sceptre" is a ceremonial staff that symbolizes authority. Ulysses means something like "I leave him in charge." When compared with Ulysses, Telemachus seems a lot less restless. He has "slow prudence," meaning he's patient and willing to make the best decision for the people of Ithaca without being too hasty. The people of Ithaca are "rugged," which means that they're a little uncivilized and uncultured. They're like country-bumpkins with a little bit of an attitude. That's why they need to be reigned in ("subdued," made "mild") and put to good use.

"Soft degrees" implies that Telemachus will civilize the citizens of Ithaca in stages and in a nice way; it's kingship as constructive criticism.

Lines 39-43
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere Of common duties, decent not to fail In offices of tenderness, and pay Meet adoration to my household gods, When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.

Ulysses tells us more about Telemachus' qualifications; he's a straight shooter all the way, a nice guy. "Decent not to fail" means that Telemachus is smart enough not to fail at doing nice things for people and paying the proper respects to the gods. "Meet" means "appropriate" or "suitable." We're not sure whether "when I am gone" means that Ulysses is planning on going back to sea for some more adventures, or if he's thinking about his own death.

Lines 44-50
There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail: There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners, Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me That ever with a frolic welcome took The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed Free hearts, free foreheads you and I are old; Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;

Ulysses shifts our attention from his son to the port of Ithaca, where he tells us a ship is preparing to set sail. Looks like he's planning on skipping town after all, and with his old friends as well. "Gloom" is usually a noun but here it's a verb that means "appearing dark" or "scowling." "Thunder and sunshine" is used here to mean something like "good times and bad times." They have gladly ("with a frolic welcome") gone through thick and thin for Ulysses. The phrase "opposed / Free hearts, free foreheads" is a little tricky. Ulysses means that his sailors "opposed" whatever came in their way "thunder," for example and they did it as free men and with a lot of confidence ("free foreheads"). While at first it seems as though Ulysses has just been musing to himself, it turns out he's speaking to someone. We don't know whom he's talking to, but the other person is an old man. Speaking of old age, Ulysses suggests that even though old people are respected, they also have responsibilities.

Lines 51-56
Death closes all: but something ere the end, Some work of noble note, may yet be done, Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods. The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks: The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep Moans round with many voices.

Ulysses knows that death will end everything, but he still believes he can do great things, things worthy of men who fought against the will of the gods during the Trojan War. The Trojan War wasn't a war between men and gods, but occasionally the gods would come down and fight with either the Greeks or the Trojans.

"Ere" is an old poetic word that means "before," as in "I will come ere nightfall." Ulysses observes the sunset and the arrival of night, but it seems like he's thinking about his own death as well. What's with the moaning? It reminds us of ghosts or people mourning a death. "Lights begin to twinkle from the rocks" is an elegant way of saying the stars are coming out.

Lines 56-64
Come, my friends, 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world. Push off, and sitting well in order smite The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths Of all the western stars, until I die. It may be that the gulfs will wash us down: It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.

It turns out that Ulysses is addressing his friends, at least during this part of the poem. He tells them what he's been telling us all along: it's never too late to go in search of new lands. Here a "furrow" refers to the track or mark made in the water by the ship. He tells his sailors to "smite" or strike it, most likely with oars. "Purpose" can mean two different things; it can mean either "destiny," as in "sailing is my purpose in life," or it can mean "intention," as in "I intend to sail as far as I can." The "baths / Of all the western stars" isn't a place where the stars go to bathe themselves. It refers to the outer ocean or river that the Greeks believed surrounded the (flat) earth; they thought the stars descended into it. To sail beyond the "baths" means Ulysses wants to sail really, really far away beyond the horizon of the known universe until he dies. The "happy isles" refers to the Islands of the Blessed, a place where big-time Greek heroes like Achilles enjoyed perpetual summer after they died. We might say Heaven. Ulysses realizes that he and his companions might die, but he's OK with that. If they die, they might even get to go to the "Happy Isles" and visit their old pal Achilles.

Lines 65-70
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and though We are not now that strength which in old days Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are; One equal temper of heroic hearts, Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

Ulysses yet again tells us that even though he and his sailors are old and don't have a lot of gas left in the tank, there's enough left to go a little farther. "Abides" is a word that means "remains." These guys are a team with one heartbeat. They're old and broken, but they still have the will to seek out and face challenges without giving up. They can't bench-press 200 pounds anymore, but that won't stop them from trying anyway. The phrase "strong in will / To strive, to seek, to find, and not yield" means something like "we're strong because of our will to strive" or "our will to strive is strong."