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.

And weep the more, because I weep in vain.

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.

The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

When love could teach a monarch to be wise, And gospel-light first dawn'd from Bullen's eyes.

Each in his narrow cell forever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.

And moody madness laughing wild Amid severest woe.