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.

Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!

And hie him home, at evening's close, To sweet repast and calm repose.

Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.

Sorrow's faded form, and solitude behind.

Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust, or flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death?