Far from the madding crowd’s ignoble strife,

Their sober wishes never learned to stray;

Along the cool, sequester’d vale of life

They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.

Yet e’en 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: