Elegia Escrita em um Cemitério Campestre - Thomas Gray

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	7 de Outubro de 2009.

	Tinha noite que não saía de casa porque sabia que na rua ia querer fazer de novo, não ia me segurar. Deito e rezo, pra tentar me controlar."
		Francisco de Assis Pereira O Maníaco do Parque

 Elegia Escrita em um Cemitério Campestre

Elegia Escrita em um Cemitério Campestre

Avisa o sino que esmorece o dia;
A tarda grei mugindo o aprisco busca;
Lasso cultor à choça vai, tardia,
Deixando o mundo a mim e à sombra fusca.

Ante os olhos se esfuma o país vasto,
Cum silêncio solene os ares calam;
Salvo onde zune de um besouro o rasto,
Ou tinem chocas, que o redil embalam;

Salvo na torre antiga, que hera veste,
Onde à lua se queixa ermo francelho,
Se alguém, vagando, temerário investe
O seu domínio solitário e velho.

À sombra de olmos, teixos, nessa areia
Onde torneia o chão outeiros vários,
Para sempre os avós toscos da aldeia
Em cela estreita dormem solitários.

Aromas que respira a madrugada,
Gorjeios que do ninho as aves soltam,
Do galo o grito agudo, ou trompa ousada,
Em vão por eles chama; eles não voltam.

Para sempre o fogão calor lhes nega,
Nem terão da consorte à tarde o mimo;
Nenhum pequeno irá ver se o pai chega,
Nem, saltando, colher o afago primo.

A seara cedeu-lhe à foice as messes,
Coa charrua quebrou da terra os combros;
Alegre os bois jungiu; e quantas vezes
Cortou troncos, e trouxe a lenha aos ombros!

Não despreze a ambição tão útil lida,
Sorte escura, caseira, mas contente;
Nem olhe com desdém prole subida
Os símplices anais da pobre gente.

Vanglória de alta estirpe protectora,
Tudo quanto a beleza e bens nos deva,
Da morte espera a inevitável hora:
Da glória a estrada à sepultura leva.

Soberbos! não cuideis que estes errassem:
Se a memória troféus na campa escusa,
Templo vasto que os bronzes atroassem,
Engrossando o epicédio, aqui não se usa.

Não restauram no peito o fogo extinto
Urna histórica, bustos expressivos;
Nem morto pó, que encerra este precinto,
Movem hinos, lisonja, grata aos vivos.

Talvez neste lugar jaz desprezado
Um peito que celeste fogo enchia;
Mão que o ceptro do império houvera honrado,
E na lira prodígios criaria.

Mas a seus olhos a ciência, rica
Dos despojos do tempo, ocultou tudo;
Reprimiu nobre ardor penúria; e fica
Gelado o génio que aquecera o estudo.

Nas grutas insondáveis do oceano
Quantas pérolas puras assim moram!
Quantas boninas nascem, murcham, no ano,
Florescem no deserto, e ali descoram!

Colher aplausos de um senado atento,
Afrontar dores, alcançando glória,
Grato povo fazer povo opulento,
E ler nos olhos dele a própria história;

Vedou-lhe o fado; e não vedou sòmente
Virtudes grandes; restringiu-lhe o crime:
Não os deixa invadir um trono ingente,
Fecha a porta à piedade, o amor comprime.

Constranger do remorso a interna luta,
Apagar do rubor a interna chama;
Acrescentar do luxo a sede bruta,
Cos encómios que aumenta a voz da fama,

Nunca os sóbrios desejos seus souberam,
Nunca no vil ruído desvairaram;
No ignoto e fresco vale onde nasceram
Durante a mansa vida prosperaram.

Estes ossos, contudo, campa escura
Protege contra insultos, onde moram;
Com versos toscos, rústica escultura,
A quem passa, um suspiro é quanto imploram.

Soletra rude muda o nome e a idade;
Em lugar de elegia, ali dominam
Textos santos, sentenças de verdade,
Que ao rústico a morrer constante ensinam.

Quem se verá sem susto em precipício
De entrar no esquecimento tenebroso?
Quem fixará das luz cálida o quício
Sem olhar para trás terno e saudoso?

O que morre confia-se em quem ama,
Pronto espera no instante em que falece;
Da cova mesma a natureza clama,
Seu indómito fogo a cinza aquece.

Tu, que cuidas nos mortos medianos,
Que os seus feitos sem arte assim descreves,
Se um triste aqui trouxerem desenganos,
E perguntar teu fado e dias breves:

"Ao romper da manhã o vi mil vezes,
(Talvez diga um pastor encanecido)
Veloz pisando o orvalho, em quaisquer meses,
Indo encontrar o sol no outeiro erguido.

Junto da faia, que d'além acena,
E a raiz caprichosa estende e enleia,
Lasso, deitado ao sol, e absorto em pena,
A fonte olhava, e o borbulhar da areia.

Junto daquele bosque o vi queixoso,
Lamentando o enfadonho seu cuidado;
Já pálido, já triste e duvidoso,
Louco de dor, de amor desesperado.

Certo dia faltou no usado outeiro,
Perto da mata, e da árvore valida;
No outro não se viu junto ao ribeiro,
Nem na planície, na estação florida:

Com repousos, mortalha, e triste arreio,
Ao adro, no seguinte, foi levado:
Chega-te e lê o verso, pois eu creio
podes ler o que a pedra tem gravado".

                    Epitáfio

Aqui jaz descansado no regaço
Da fria terra um moço ignoto à fama;
Vítima da tristeza e fado escasso,
Mas génio qual o céu deu a quem ama.
De alma sincera, e de bondade extensa,
Deu à miséria quanto tinha - pranto:
Merecia do céu tal recompensa,
Teve um amigo, e só desejou tanto.

Nem mais virtudes nem fraquezas queiras
Arrancar deste sítio tenebroso;
Umas e outras foram passageiras,
E caíram nas mãos de um Deus piedoso.

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Thomas Gray
Tradução de Marquesa d'Alorna
PS: Foi mantida a grafia original da tradução

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http://www.blood-pack.com/index025.htm

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"ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD" - Thomas Gray

Thomas Gray - Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard

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.

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;

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

Nor 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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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: 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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

"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.

"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.

"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 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 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.

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.

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.

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http://www.umiacs.umd.edu/~ridge/local/elegy.html

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Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard | Introduction

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Thomas Gray's "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard" was first published in 1751. Gray may, however, have begun writing the poem in 1742, shortly after the death of his close friend Richard West. An elegy is a poem which laments the dead. Gray's "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard" is noteworthy in that it mourns the death not of great or famous people, but of common men. The speaker of this poem sees a country churchyard at sunset, which impels him to meditate on the nature of human mortality. The poem invokes the classical idea of memento mori, a Latin phrase which states plainly to all mankind, "Remember that you must die." The speaker considers the fact that in death, there is no difference between great and common people. He goes on to wonder if among the lowly people buried in the churchyard there had been any natural poets or politicians whose talent had simply never been discovered or nurtured. This thought leads him to praise the dead for the honest, simple lives that they lived.

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Gray did not produce a great deal of poetry; the "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard," however, has earned him a respected and deserved place in literary history. The poem was written at the end of the Augustan Age and at the beginning of the Romantic period, and the poem has characteristics associated with both literary periods. On the one hand, it has the ordered, balanced phrasing and rational sentiments of Neoclassical poetry. On the other hand, it tends toward the emotionalism and individualism of the Romantic poets; most importantly, it idealizes and elevates the common man.

Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard Summary

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Lines 1-4:
In the first stanza, the speaker observes the signs of a country day drawing to a close: a curfew bell ringing, a herd of cattle moving across the pasture, and a farm laborer returning home. The speaker is then left alone to contemplate the isolated rural scene. The first line of the poem sets a distinctly somber tone: the curfew bell does not simply ring; it "knells"—a term usually applied to bells rung at a death or funeral. From the start, then, Gray reminds us of human mortality.

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Lines 5-8:
The second stanza sustains the somber tone of the first: the speaker is not mournful, but pensive, as he describes the peaceful landscape that surrounds him. Even the air is characterized as having a "solemn stillness."

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Lines 9-12:
The sound of an owl hooting intrudes upon the evening quiet. We are told that the owl "complains"; in this context, the word does not mean "to whine" or "grumble," but "to express sorrow." The owl's call, then, is suggestive of grief. Note that at no point in these three opening stanzas does Gray directly refer to death or a funeral; rather, he indirectly creates a funereal atmosphere by describing just a few mournful sounds.

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Lines 13-16:
It is in the fourth stanza that the speaker directly draws our attention to the graves in the country churchyard. We are presented with two potentially conflicting images of death. Line 14 describes the heaps of earth surrounding the graves; in order to dig a grave, the earth must necessarily be disrupted. Note that the syntax of this line is slightly confusing. We would expect this sentence to read "Where the turf heaves"—not "where heaves the turf." Gray has inverted the word order. Just as the earth has been disrupted, the syntax imitates the way in which the earth has been disrupted. But by the same token, the "rude Forefathers" buried beneath the earth seem entirely at peace: we are told that they are laid in "cells," a term which reminds us of the quiet of a monastery, and that they "sleep."

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Lines 17-20:
If the "Forefathers" are sleeping, however, the speaker reminds us that they will never again rise from their "beds" to hear the pleasurable sounds of country life that the living do. The term "lowly beds" describes not only the unpretentious graves in which the forefathers are buried, but the humble conditions that they endured when they were alive.

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Lines 21-24:
The speaker then moves on to consider some of the other pleasures the dead will no longer enjoy: the happiness of home, wife, and children.

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Lines 25-28:
The dead will also no longer be able to enjoy the pleasures of work, of plowing the fields each day. This stanza points to the way in which the "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard" contains elements of both Augustan and Romantic poetry. Poetry that describes agriculture—as this one does—is called georgic. Georgic verse was extremely popular in the eighteenth century. Note, however, that Gray closely identifies the farmers with the land that they work. This association of man and nature is suggestive of a romantic attitude. The georgic elements of the stanza almost demand that we characterize it as typical of the eighteenth century, but its tone looks forward to the Romantic period.

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Lines 29-32:
The next four stanzas caution those who are wealthy and powerful not to look down on the poor. These lines warn the reader not to slight the "obscure" "destiny" of the poor—the fact that they will never be famous or have long histories, or "annals," written about them.

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Lines 33-36:
This stanza invokes the idea of memento mori (literally, a reminder of mortality). The speaker reminds the reader that regardless of social position, beauty, or wealth, all must eventually die.

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Lines 37-40:
The speaker also challenges the reader not to look down on the poor for having modest, simple graves. He suggests, moreover, that the elaborate memorials that adorn the graves of the "Proud" are somehow excessive. In this context, the word "fretted" in line 39 has a double meaning: on the one hand, it can refer to the design on a cathedral ceiling; on the other hand, it can suggest that there is something "fretful," or troublesome, about the extravagant memorials of the wealthy.

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Lines 41-44:
The speaker observes that nothing can bring the dead back to life, and that all the advantages that the wealthy had in life are useless in the face of death. Neither elaborate funeral monuments nor impressive honors can restore life. Nor can flattery in some way be used to change the mind of death. Note here Gray's use of personification in characterizing both "flattery" and "death"—as though death has a will or mind of its own.

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Lines 45-48:
The speaker then reconsiders the poor people buried in the churchyard. He wonders what great deeds they might have accomplished had they been given the opportunity: one of these poor farmers, the speaker reasons, might have... » Complete Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard Summary

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