Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/577

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The Funeral of The Duke of Wellington.
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In his cellThe student saw the pageant; spied from farThe long-drawn pomp which reached from west to eastSlow moving in the silence—casque and plumeAnd banner waving sad; the marvellous stateOf heralds, soldiers, nobles, foreign powers,With baton or with pennon: princes, peers,Judges, and dignitaries of Church and State,And warriors grown grey-headed; every formWhich greatness can assume or honour name,Peaceful or warlike,—each and all were there,Trooping in sable sorrow after himWho slept serene upon his funeral carIn glorious rest!. . . . A child might understandThat 'twas no national sorrow, but a griefWide as the world. A child might understandThat all mankind were sorrowing for one!That banded nations had conspired to payThis homage to the chief who drew his swordAt the command of Duty; kept it brightThrough perilous days; and, soon as victory smiled,Laid it unsullied, in the lap of Peace.
Such things, and more, the student spied; as dullOf heart were he who, hearing through the dayThe doleful clang from many a tower and spire,(As if in every college one were dead!)Could sit with slumbering fancy; hear no strainsOf melancholy music: see no shadeCast (as by nodding plumes) across his book,And hiding all the sense; yea, pour no prayerVoiceless, yet hearty as ineloquent;Unconscious to himself of what he said;—
"God, rest his gallant spirit! give him peace!And crown his brows with amaranth,—and setThe saintly palm-branch in his strong right-hand!Amid the conquering armies of the skiesGive him high place for ever! let him walkO'er meads of better asphodel; and beWhere dwell the single-hearted and the wise,The saviours of their country!—faithful men,And loyal to their Prince, and true and brave;Men like himself; severely, simply good,Who scorned to be ambitious,—scorned the snaresOf office, station, rank, but stood sublimeIn natural greatness. . . . O Eternal King—O Father of all spirits,—give him peace!"