Thomas gray comes from a family of brokers in London. When he was young, he studied at Eton College and Cambridge University, and traveled around Europe with friends. He lived in seclusion at Cambridge University for the rest of his life as a professor of history and language, but he never gave lectures and rarely wrote books. He devoted himself only to reading and enriching his knowledge. Gray was indifferent to fame and fortune all his life, and once declined the title of poet laureate. Besides poetry, his letters are also considered as masterpieces of English prose.
Gray didn't write many poems in his life, only a dozen poems were handed down from generation to generation. Among them, Elegy of Cemetery is the most famous. After publication, many imitations were attracted, and the so-called "cemetery poetry school" was formed for a while. It took eight years to write this poem, and the original motive was to mourn his friend Richard West when he was studying at Eton College. At least the epitaph at the end of the poem was written for him. However, looking at the whole poem, its content obviously goes beyond the grief of a specific figure, but through the description of a quiet cemetery in the countryside, it expresses sympathy for the unknown farmers, regrets that they have no chance to display their talents, and at the same time reveals condemnation of the arrogant and extravagant life of the great people. This thought of loving nature, sympathizing with the people and despising power and the sentimental sentiment throughout the poem made Elegy in the Cemetery a model of sentimental poetry in the late18th century and a romantic spirit that rose thereafter. The language of the poem is exquisite and elegant, the structure is rigorous and complete, and the four-line poem with alternating rhymes is used. The rhythm is neat and the rhyme is rigorous, showing the bookish spirit of a scholar poet.
In addition, it is worth mentioning that Gray was fascinated by the simple and romantic original poems of the ancient Nordic people, and translated their epics Sisters of Destiny and The Birth of Odin, which opened up an atmosphere in which British romantics were interested in Nordic literature.
The electricity written in the rural cemetery
The curfew sounded the death knell of parting;
Cleisthenes's herds are slowly blowing on the grassland;
The farmer trudged home wearily,
Leave the world to darkness and me.
Elegy of cemetery
The day will be over, and the late bell will hasten the sunset.
Yellow calves are singing on the grassland, and they come back slowly.
Fu Tian hoe away, but his intention to go home is weak.
Xuan Ming is all over the sky, and the lonely shadow is standing.
Now the flickering scenery in front of us has gradually faded away.
The solemn air hangs over everything,
Except where beetles hum,
The sleepy jingle calmed the distant folds;
Twilight is getting thicker and the evening scenery is fading away.
Everything withers, and Yin is shut in ten thousand fields.
I only saw the insects spinning, but I listened carefully to these words.
The shepherd's bell is sleepy, urging the sheep to rest in the sheepfold.
Besides, from the ivy-covered tower over there,
The melancholy owl complained to the moon.
For example, wandering in her secret gazebo,
Harassing her ancient lonely rule.
Ficus pumila shakes the spire of the green gas cover.
Owls live on perches, and owls hate the light of toads;
I have been spying on my private house for a long time, but I haven't retired yet.
I have lived here for a long time. Why should I disturb the peace here?
Under those rugged elms, the shadow of yew trees
Pile up the turf in piles,
Everyone is always lying in a narrow cell,
Hamlet's primitive ancestors slept.
Towering green elms, standing yew.
Under the barren grave, wormwood blooms.
Seeing the square hole in the narrow pass, people will sleep in silence.
I want to ask who is lying down, Ye Fu and the village to protect themselves.
Breathing the call of the morning breeze with incense,
Swallows are chirping in the shed made of straw.
The cock's sharp horn, or the echo horn,
Never wake them up from their humble beds again.
The flowers are fragrant and the wind is whispering.
Under the thatched cottage, the family swallows whisper.
The cock crows in the morning and the horn of hunting rings.
You can't wake up when you lie down.
For them, the blazing fire will no longer burn,
Or busy housewives are busy with evening care;
No children went to babble that their father was back,
Or climb on his knee and share that enviable kiss.
The fire in the fireplace is very bright, and housewives are busy at night.
Cooking and adding fire is no longer the case.
Joule is still learning English, and she doesn't know how to welcome her father back.
Climb your knees and fight for love, and the scenery is hard to chase.
They often harvest crops with sickles;
Their stubborn furrow has been broken;
How happy they are to drive their team to other places!
How crooked the Woods are under their powerful blows!
In the past, the sickle was sharp and everything was invincible.
Poor soil and thin land can also be cultivated.
Driving in Nanmu, coupling farming and enjoying current events.
A thousand catties wield an axe, and the forest is falling.
Don't let ambition mock their beneficial hard work,
Their ordinary happiness and vague fate;
There is no noble and contemptuous smile.
A concise chronicle of the poor.
Don't laugh at fools, you will succeed in your work.
Humble don't have to sigh, music can sing.
The family history of Penghu is very short and brief.
Powerful people may have heard of it, but they won't laugh at it.
The ostentation of heraldry, the pomp of power,
All the beauty, all the wealth,
Waiting for the inevitable moment:
The glorious road only leads to the grave.
A dazzling aristocratic family, a prominent prince,
Beauty attracts and wealth increases,
Finally, it is inevitable when it disappears.
Splendid Hezu Road has returned to the mountain for a hundred years.