My very chains and I grew friends,
So much a long communion tends 390
To make us what we are:—Even I
Regain’d my freedom with a sigh.
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.