ELEGY
.
WRITTEN
IN
THE
HOT
WEATHER
,
JULY
MDCCLVII
.
BY
THE
SAME
.
THREE
hours
from
noon
the
passing
shadow
shows
,
The
sultry
breeze
glides
faintly
o'er
the
plains
,
The
dazzling
aether
fierce
and
fiercer
glows
,
And
human
nature
scarce
its
rage
sustains
.
Now
still
and
vacant
is
the
dusty
street
,
And
still
and
vacant
where
yon
fields
extend
,
Save
where
those
swains
,
oppress'd
with
toil
and
heat
,
The
grassy
harvest
of
the
mead
attend
.
Lost
is
the
lively
aspect
of
the
ground
,
Low
are
the
springs
,
the
reedy
ditches
dry
;
No
verdant
spot
in
all
the
vale
is
found
,
Save
what
yon
stream's
unfailing
stores
supply
,
Where
are
the
flowers
that
made
the
garden
gay
?
Where
is
their
beauty
,
where
their
fragrance
sled
?
Their
stems
relax
,
fast
fall
their
leaves
away
,
They
fade
and
mingle
with
their
dusty
bed
:
All
but
the
natives
of
the
torrid
zone
,
What
Afric's
wilds
,
or
Peru's
fields
display
,
Pleas'd
with
a
clime
that
imitates
their
own
,
They
lovelier
bloom
beneath
the
parching
ray
.
Where
is
wild
nature's
heart-reviving
song
,
That
fill'd
in
genial
Spring
the
verdant
bowers
?
Silent
in
gloomy
woods
the
feather'd
throng
Pine
thro'
this
long
,
long
course
of
sultry
hours
.
Where
is
the
dream
of
bliss
by
Summer
brought
?
The
walk
along
the
riv'let-water'd
vale
?
The
field
with
verdure
clad
,
with
fragrance
fraught
,
The
sun
mild-beaming
,
and
the
fanning
gale
?
The
weary
soul
Imagination
chears
,
Her
pleasing
colours
paint
the
future
gay
;
Time
passes
on
,
the
truth
itself
appears
,
The
pleasing
colours
instant
fade
away
:
In
different
seasons
different
joys
we
place
,
And
these
shall
Spring
supply
,
and
Summer
these
;
Yet
frequent
storms
the
bloom
of
Spring
deface
,
And
Summer
scarcely
brings
a
day
to
please
.
O
for
some
secret
shady
cool
recess
!
Some
Gothic
dome
o'erhung
with
darksome
trees
,
Where
thick
damp
walls
this
raging
heat
repress
;
Where
the
long
isle
invites
the
lazy
breeze
:
But
why
these
plaints
?
—
amid
his
wastes
of
sand
,
Far
more
than
this
the
wandering
Arab
feels
;
Far
more
the
Indian
in
Columbus'
land
,
While
Phoebus
o'er
him
rolls
his
fiery
wheels
:
Far
more
the
sensible
of
mind
sustains
,
Rack'd
with
the
poignant
pangs
of
fear
or
shame
:
The
hopeless
lover
,
bound
in
beauty's
chains
,
And
he
,
whom
envy
robs
of
hard-earn'd
same
:
He
,
who
a
father
or
a
mother
mourns
,
Or
lovely
consort
lost
in
early
bloom
,
He
,
whom
the
dreaded
rage
of
fever
burns
,
Or
slow
disease
leads
lingering
to
the
tomb
.
—
Lest
man
should
sink
beneath
the
present
pain
;
Lest
man
should
triumph
in
the
present
joy
;
For
him
th'
unvarying
"
Laws
of
heaven
ordain
,
"
Hope
in
his
ills
,
and
to
his
bliss
alloy
.
Fierce
and
oppressive
is
the
sun
we
share
,
Yet
not
unuseful
to
our
humid
soil
;
Hence
shall
our
fruits
a
richer
flavour
bear
,
Hence
shall
our
plains
with
riper
harvests
smile
:
Reflect
and
be
content
—
for
mankind's
good
Heaven
gives
the
due
degrees
of
drought
or
rain
;
To-morrow
ceaseless
showers
may
swell
the
flood
,
Nor
soon
yon
sun
rise
blazing
fierce
again
:
Ev'n
now
behold
the
grateful
change
at
hand
,
Hark
,
in
the
east
loud
blustering
gales
arise
;
Wide
and
more
wide
the
darkening
clouds
expand
,
And
distant
lightnings
flash
along
the
skies
:
O
in
the
awful
concert
of
the
storm
,
While
hail
and
rain
,
and
wind
and
thunder
join
!
Let
the
great
Ruler's
praise
my
song
inform
,
Let
wonder
,
reverence
,
gratitude
be
mine
.