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.

Any fool may write a most valuable book by chance, if he will only tell us what he heard and saw with veracity.

Daughter of Jove, relentless power, Thou tamer of the human breast, Whose iron scourge and tort'ring hour The bad affright, afflict the best!

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.

To Contemplation's sober eye. / Such is the race of Man.

And weep the more, because I weep in vain.

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife.