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Inscribed in black ink upper right: "7"; in graphite center: "x"; on verso in black ink upper left: "8"; in graphite center: "x"

Lettered on inlaid page: "COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD 153 | 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 thro' slaughter to a throne, | And shut the gates of mercy to 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 Muses flame. | Far"; Lettered on verso, on inlaid page: "154 ELEGY WRITTEN IN A | 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 tenour of their way. | Yet ev'n these bones from insult to protect | Some frail memorial still erected nigh, | With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture | Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. [deck'd, | Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd | The place of fame and elegy supply; [Muse, | 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 chearful day, | Nor cast one longing ling'ring look behind? | On"