aning of certain words and forms of expression. For that reason,
notes are appended where they may be needed. A good reader is never
troubled by notes at the bottom of the page. If they are of no
interest or benefit to him, he knows it with a glance and passes on
with his reading. If the note is helpful, he gathers the
information and returns to his reading, beginning not at the word
from which the reference was made, but at the beginning of the
sentence or stanza; then he loses nothing by going to the footnote.

The curfew[361-1] tolls the knell[361-2] of parting day,
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea,
The plowman homeward plods his weary way
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

[Illustration: HOMEWARD PLODS HIS WEARY WAY]

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds;[361-3]

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower[362-4]
The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of such as, wandering near her secret bower,
Molest her ancient solitary reign.[362-5]

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mold'ring heap,
Each in his narrow cell forever laid,
The rude[362-6] forefathers of the hamlet sleep.

The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,
The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed,
The cock's shrill clarion,[362-7] or the echoing horn,
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.[362-8]

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
Or busy housewife ply her evening care;[362-9]
No children run to lisp their sire's return,[363-10]
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield,
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe[363-11] has broke;
How jocund[363-12] did they drive their team a-field!
How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!

Let not Ambition[363-13] mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys and destiny obscure;
Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile,
The short and simple annals of the poor.

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Await[363-14] alike th' inevitable hour:
The paths of glory le