Introduction:
“An Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard" develops in the background of the Churchyard at Stoke Poges. Sitting there, the poet accounts for the rural activities at evening. The evening bell has warned people to cover their fires, put out their lights, and go to bed. The crying group of animals is going on tract with farmers walking with tired steps leaving all in darkness. The silence is disturbed by beetles that fly in circle and produce the sound of buzzing. Sleeping animals' bells produce light sound that makes them asleep in the distant enclosures for sheep. At some distance the tower of the church at Stock Poges is covered with creepers, there shines the moon that disturbs the owl. The sad owl takes rest at a dark place of residing that is disturbed by the moonlight.
“Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds.”
Satire on Ambitious People:
Ambitious people should not laugh at useful labour of these villagers. Royal persons should not be scornful to their simple tales of life. The pride of birth, power, beauty or wealth proves useless for death waits equally for all. The ways of worldly progress end in grave. The poet warns those who are proud enough to blame the poor farmers for not having memorials for their dead forefathers. It was the custom to bury the poorer people of a village in the churchyard, and the rich or high-born in the church. But the poet does not regard it a matter to be proud of for all these vain customs or formalities are meaningless. The loud songs of their false praise cannot make them alive. The funeral urns such as were used by the ancients were frequently decorated with scenes from the life of the deceased or life-like statues can't call back the dead man to life. The dead body has no sense to hear speeches of sycophancy made to please the dead.
“Can storied urn or animated bust
Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?”
The Wretched Curse of Poverty:
In these poor graves those unfortunate persons' dead bodies are laid who were inspired with divine blessing. They were talented enough to hold the sceptre and rule a state. On getting proper opportunity they might have played on a musical instrument and thrilled the souls of all listeners. They were devoid of scholarship. They were ignorant of the wide range of knowledge and treasure of time. Their discouraging poverty crushed their enthusiasm and disheartened their talent. In this condition they remained uneducated and backward. The poet imagines that on getting proper opportunity some of these villagers could be great like Hampden, Milton or Cromwell.
“Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear:
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air."
Warmth of Feeling-Unrefined Poetry:
To save the dead bodies of poor farmers from being insulted poor graves of clay are always made. With imperfect verse, the poor graves are decorated. In fact, no body welcomes death. Everybody dies with desire of living more. Every dying person has faith on a particular friend or relative and hands over his responsibilities to him. The dying person expects some true tears in the eyes of his near and dear ones. Whenever they see his grave, they think about liking and disliking as well as dreams and hopes of the dead. It reminds of the incomplete wishes of the dead.
“On some fond breast the parting soul relies,
Some pious drops the closing eye requires.”
Self-Portrait:
The poet fears that nobody would think about him. Gray refers to himself as the writer of this poem. If perchance by a passing thought a gentle man enquires about his welfare. Perhaps a country gallant or lover would report that in the morning he could be seen walking fast. At sun-set he used to visit a cleared place in a wood, not cultivated. It would be told about Gray that there at the foot of distant forest tree that decorates its old fantastic roots so high. His dull time at midday he would spend there, and look attentively the stream that flows by it. He used to wander in the distant wood, smiling as in scorn, lost in his wayward thoughts he would wander. He was a dull sorrowful man, like one cheerless, or an unfortunate man mad with care, or rejected in hopeless love. He would say that daily he used to see Gray on a hill but one morning he missed him on that hill. He asks those who enquire about Gray to go and read the lines engraved on the stone beneath distant aged thorn-bush.
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