The speaker is hanging out in a churchyard just after the sun goes down.

It's dark and a

bit spooky. He looks at the dimly lit gravestones, but none of the grave markers are all
that impressive—most of the people buried here are poor folks from the village, so their
tombstones are just simple, roughly carved stones.

The speaker starts to imagine the kinds of lives these dead guys probably led. Then he
shakes his finger at the reader, and tells us not to get all snobby about the rough
monuments these dead guys have on their tombs, since, really, it doesn't matter what
kind of a tomb you have when you're dead, anyway. And guys, the speaker reminds us,
we're all going to die someday.

But that gets the speaker thinking about his own inevitable death, and he gets a little
freaked out. He imagines that someday in the future, some random guy (a "kindred
spirit") might pass through this same graveyard, just as he was doing today. And that
guy might see the speaker's tombstone, and ask a local villager about it. And then he
imagines what the villager might say about him.

At the end, he imagines that the villager points out the epitaph engraved on the
tombstone, and invites the passerby to read it for himself. So basically, Thomas Gray
writes his own epitaph at the end of this poem.

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,

The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea,
The plowman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

 So, right off the bat we have some vocab to sort out in this poem. The "curfew" is
a bell that rings at the end of the day, but a "knell" is a bell that rings when
someone dies. So it's like the "parting day" is actually dying. Sounds like
a metaphor!
 The mooing herd of cows makes its winding way over the meadow ("lea" =
"meadows")
 And the tired farmer clomps on home.
  Now that the cows and the farmer are out of the picture, the speaker gets
everything in the world to himself (he has to share it with the growing darkness,
but that's not so bad).
 Notice that the speaker refers to himself in the first person right away in that first
stanza: the parting farmer and cows leave "the world […] to me."
 This would be a good time to note that the poet often removes vowels and
replaces them with an apostrophe, like "o'er" instead of "over" in the second line.
 If you ever notice an odd-looking word with an apostrophe in it, try replacing the
apostrophe with a letter to make a familiar word. Gray makes these contractions
to make the number of syllables fit the iambic pentameter. While we're talking
about form, we'll also point out the rhyme scheme here—it's ABAB. For more on
the poem's meter and rhyme scheme, check out the "Form and Meter" section.

Now fades the glimm'ring 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;

 So what's happening, exactly? The "glimm'ring landscape" is fading from the

poet's sight. Must be sunset, but we knew that from the first stanza.
 The air is quiet, too, except for the buzz of the occasional beetle and the tinkling
bells hanging around the necks of livestock in their "folds" (a.k.a. barns).
 Sounds peaceful and sleepy, like everything is winding down.
 There are some interesting literary devices in these lines, too: "solemn stillness"
is a great example of alliteration, and the speaker personifies the "tinkling" of the
bells when he says that they're "drowsy." Go to the "Symbols" section for more
on these literary tools!

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r

The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of such, as wand'ring near her secret bow'r,
Molest her ancient solitary reign.

 Here are some more exceptions to the overall peace and quiet: the bent-out-of-
shape owl is hooting.
 More figurative language here! The speaker uses metaphor to describe the tower
where the owl lives as "ivy-mantled." (A "mantle" is a kind of cloak or coat, so the
speaker is saying that the tower is dressed up in ivy. Cool!)
  Because the title of the poem says that it was "written in a country churchyard,"
we can guess that the "tower" mentioned here is probably the church tower.
 But the speaker doesn't just say that there's an owl hooting—he uses some more
figurative language. He personifies the owl when he says that it's "moping" and
"complaining," since those are things a person would do, not an owl.
 And what's the mopey owl complaining about? Apparently, he's complaining that
there's an outsider nearby—someone who is wandering near her private digs (a
"bower" is a lady's private room) and bothering her solitude.
 Who is that outsider? Sounds like the owl is probably complaining about the
presence of the speaker himself! (And we're just assuming the speaker is a "he.")

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,

Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap,
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.

 This stanza is all one long sentence, and the sentence structure is a bit wacky,
so let's try to sort it out.
 The subject and the verb of the sentence are way down there in the last line of
the stanza: "The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep."
 Hold up—the speaker isn't saying that the ancestors of the town (a "hamlet" is a
tiny town, not an omelet with ham in it!) are impolite. "Rude" is used to describe
someone who was from the country. Someone who wasn't sophisticated, and
who was maybe a bit of a bumpkin. So the forefathers being described here are
probably just simple country folks, not discourteous, impolite jerks.
 So what are these country forefathers of the hamlet doing? They're sleeping.
Sounds peaceful, right?
 Except, look at the third line of the stanza—they're not sleeping at home in their
beds. They're sleeping in narrow cells, and they're laid in there forever.
 Sounds like they're sleeping in only a metaphorical sense. These guys are dead
and lying in their graves in the churchyard!
 The first two lines of the poem set the scene. These graves are under elm and
yew trees, and there are piles of turf on each one.
 So we're not just hanging out outside of a church as the sun goes down. We're
actually hanging out in the graveyard. Spooky!

Let not Ambition 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.
  More figurative language, y'all! The speaker personifies Ambition and Grandeur
in these lines. You can tell because (a) he capitalizes them, as though they were
proper nouns or names, and also because he says that they're doing stuff
("mocking" and "hearing") that only people do.
 So, what's the deal with that personification? The speaker is telling the readers
that they shouldn't mock the hard work, or the homely, simple pleasures, or the
unsung, "obscure" destinies of the poor farmers in the graveyard. But he doesn't
come out and tell the readers to lay off the mockery—instead, he says that they
shouldn't allow "Ambition" to mock them. He's sort of displacing the blame.
Regular people wouldn't mock these honest guys—only Ambition would be that
cruel. Maybe he doesn't want the readers to feel as though he's shaking a finger
at them, even though he kind of is.
 Same deal with the second two lines of the stanza: the speaker says that we
shouldn't allow "Grandeur," or high social status, to smile disdainfully or
scornfully at the day-to-day accounts ("annals") of poor people.
 Again, though, it seems like the speaker is personifying "Grandeur" to take the
edge off of this stanza so that it won't sound like he's scolding the readers.
 (Rule Number 1 of Writing: If you want to earn money from your writing, you
probably shouldn't attack the audience or make them feel bad about themselves.)

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r,

And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Awaits alike th' inevitable hour.
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

 Aha. Here's the real reason why the speaker doesn't want proud, ambitious,
grand people to make fun of the poor people in the churchyard: it's because
we're all heading there someday, too!
 Here are a few nitty-gritty vocab notes before we start unraveling the sentence
structure of these lines: "Heraldry" is the coat of arms associated with old,
aristocratic families. Families with a coat of arms would embroider it on
everything from their servants' coats to the outside of their carriage to the screen
in front of the fireplace. Check out this example.
 "Pomp" means proud, meaningless ceremony—basically, any ceremony
designed to make people feel important but that doesn't really convey any
meaning.
 Last one: "inevitable" means unavoidable.
 Phew. Okay. Now let's get back to the summary! The speaker starts with a list
(this guy seems to be fond of lists). Here we go: 1) Bragging about your family's
heraldry, 2) The empty ceremony of being in a position of power, and 3) The
beauty that can be obtained from wealth—all of those things are waiting for the
unavoidable, inevitable time.
  What time, you ask? Yep, you guessed it: all of those paths lead only to the
GRAVE.

THE EPITAPH
Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth
A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown.
Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth,
And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.

 Now we're supposed to imagine that we, like the "kindred spirit" who asked about
the dead speaker, are reading Thomas Gray's imagined epitaph. Morbid?
 Yes. But kind of cool, we have to admit. Let's see what it says…
 This is where the speaker is resting his head on the ground.
 Yes, that's a metaphor! Dead people don't really "rest their heads" anywhere—
they're dead, after all. And "Earth" is being personified when the speaker
imagines that it could have a "lap."
 The speaker calls himself a young person who is unknown both to Fortune (i.e.,
good luck or wealth—it could mean either) and to Fame. In other words, he was
of humble birth.
 But at least he was no stranger to knowledge, or science, in spite of his humble
origins. He was a scholar and a poet!
 But, alas, he was sometimes kinda depressed.
 We get more personification here, too—you can tell because all those nouns
(Fame, Fortune, Science, Melancholy) are capitalized.

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,

Heav'n did a recompense as largely send:
He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a tear,
He gain'd from Heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a friend.

 He might have had humble beginnings, but he did pretty well for himself—he was
generous and sincere, and Heaven paid him back (sent a "recompense") for
those good qualities.
 The speaker gave everything he had to his depression, or (as personified here)
Misery—in other words, his tears.
 But Heaven gave him something pretty awesome: a friend.
  Fun fact: The speaker's probably referring to his BFF, Richard West (see the "In
a Nutshell" section for more on that).

No farther seek his merits to disclose,

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,
(There they alike in trembling hope repose)
The bosom of his Father and his God.

 Don't try to find out anything more about the dead speaker's good points.
 And don't try to dig up any dirt on his bad points, or frailties, either.
 Why not, you ask? Both his good and his bad points are in "repose," or resting,
hoping for eternal life, in heaven with God. That's why not.