Lines 93-100

For thee, who mindful of th' unhonour'd Dead
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate;
If chance, by lonely contemplation led,
Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate,
Haply some hoary-headed swain may say,
"Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn
Brushing with hasty steps the dews away
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.

• Look, gang, more enjambment! The same sentence continues across a stanza break, so we'll look at both stanzas at once.
• The speaker refers to himself in these lines—he's calling himself "thee."
• (Fun grammar fact: most modern readers think of "thee" and "thou" as an old-fashioned, fancy-pants version of "you." But no! It's not fancy-pants at all!
• "Thee" and "thou" were actually informal or more intimate versions of "you." Like French, Spanish, and many other languages that have two versions of "you," English used to have a formal and an informal way of saying "you." And it makes sense that if the poet is addressing himself, he'd use the more informal way of doing so.)
• Okay, so what's our speaker actually saying to himself? He's saying that he is aware ("mindful") of the dead people who haven't been honored with lots of monuments, so he's memorializing them in these very lines of poetry.
• Then the speaker wonders what would happen if some random kindred spirit, who happened to be musing on similar things (i.e., death), might ask about the speaker's fate.
• He answers this question in the next stanza, and with some alliteration thrown in while he's at it ("Haply some hoary-headed" and "swain […] say")!
• Probably some gray-haired ("hoary-headed") farmer guy ("swain") would say that they had often seen the speaker hurrying through the dew-covered grass to watch the sun come up on the meadow lawn.

  Lines 101-104

• "There at the foot of yonder nodding beech
  That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high,
  His listless length at noontide would he stretch,
  And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
  
  • The speaker continues to imagine what the "hoary-headed swain" would say about him, if a random passerby happened to ask.
  • He imagines the old guy saying that at noon, the speaker used to stretch out at the foot of the old beech tree—the one that has fantastically weird roots—and that he would stare at the babbling brook.
  • "Listless length" in line 103 is another great example of alliteration.

    Lines 105-108

  • Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn,
    Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would rove,
    Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn,
    Or craz'd with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.
    
    • This stanza continues with what the speaker imagines an old villager would say about him after he was dead and gone.
    • He imagines the old guy saying that the speaker used to rove, or wander, in the nearby woods. 
    • Sometimes, the speaker would smile almost scornfully, while muttering to himself, and sometimes he would look all droopy and mopey, pale ("wan") with sorrow, like he was anxious or else hopelessly in love with someone who didn't love him back. Good times!

      Lines 109-112

    • "One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill,
      Along the heath and near his fav'rite tree;
      Another came; nor yet beside the rill,
      Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he;
      
      • The speaker continues to imagine what the old villager might say about him after he's dead and gone:
      • He imagines the villager saying that he missed seeing the speaker one morning in the usual place on a local hillside, along the fields ("heath") by the speaker's favorite tree. (This is probably the beech tree mentioned in Stanza 26.)
      • The villager goes on to say that another day passed, and yet he still didn't see the speaker by the brook ("rill") or on the grass, or by the woods. Sounds like something's up…

        Lines 113-116

      • "The next with dirges due in sad array
        Slow thro' the church-way path we saw him borne.
        Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay,
        Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn."
        
        • The speaker continues to imagine what an old villager would say about him after his death: 
        • And on the third day after the speaker didn't show up, the old villager says that dirges (funeral songs) were played, and that they saw the speaker carried slowly along the path to the church in a funeral procession.
        • The villager invites the random passerby who asked (the "kindred spirit" of line 96) to read the epitaph that is engraved on the speaker's tombstone, underneath the gnarly old thornbush.

          Lines 117-120

        • 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.

            Lines 121-124

             
          • 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.

              Lines 125-128

            • 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.