Lightly ye rose that dawning day,

From your cold couch of swamp and clay,
To fill, before the sun was low,

The bed that morning cannot know.

Oft
may
the tear the green sod steep,
And sacred be the heroes' sleep,

Till time shall cease to run;
And ne'er beside their noble grave,
May Briton pass and fail to crave
A blessing on the fallen brave

Who fought with Wellington!

ODE ON THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON

LORD TENNYSON

(Stanza VI)

NELSON died in the hour of victory. Wellington lived to serve his country in council and on the field for thirty-seven years after the battle of Waterloo. In 1852 the great general was laid to rest beside the great admiral in the cathedral of St. Paul's.

Who is he that cometh, like an honour'd guest, With banner and with music, with soldier and with priest,

With a nation weeping, and breaking on my rest?
Mighty Seaman, this is he

Was great by land as thou by sea.

Thine island loves thee well, thou famous man,

The greatest sailor since the world began.

Now, to the roll of muffled drums,

To thee the greatest soldier comes;
For this is he

Was great by land as thou by sea;
His foes were thine; he kept us free;
O give him welcome, this is he
Worthy of our gorgeous rites,
And worthy to be laid by thee;
For this is England's greatest son,
He that gain'd a hundred fights,
Nor ever lost an English gun;
This is he that far away

Against the myriads of Assaye
Clash'd with his fiery few and won;
And underneath another sun,
Warring on a later day,

Round affrighted Lisbon drew
The treble works, the vast designs
Of his labour'd rampart lines,
Where he greatly stood at bay,
Whence he issued forth anew,
And ever great and greater grew,
Beating from the wasted vines
Back to France her banded swarms,
Back to France with countless blows,
Till o'er the hills her eagles flew
Beyond the Pyrenean pines,
Follow'd up in valley and in glen

With blare of bugle and clamour of men,

Roll of cannon and clash of arms,

And England pouring on her foes.

Such a war had such a close.

Again their ravening eagle rose

In anger, wheel'd on Europe-shadowing wings,
And barking for the thrones of kings;

Till one that sought but Duty's iron crown
On that loud sabbath shook the spoiler down,
A day of onsets of despair!

Dashed on every rocky square

Their surging charges foam'd themselves away; Last, the Prussian trumpet blew ;

Thro' the long-tormented air

Heaven flash'd a sudden jubilant ray,

And down we swept and charged and overthrew.

So great a soldier taught us there,

What long-enduring hearts could do
In that world-earthquake, Waterloo!
Mighty Seaman, tender and true,

And pure as he from taint of craven guile,

O saviour of the silver-coasted isle,

O shaker of the Baltic and the Nile,
If aught of things that here befall
Touch a spirit among things divine,

If love of country move thee there at all,

Be glad, because his bones are laid by thine!

And thro' the centuries let a people's voice
In full acclaim,

A people's voice,

The proof and echo of all human fame,

A people's voice, when they rejoice

At civic revel and pomp and game,

Attest their great commander's claim
With honour, honour, honour, honour to him,
Eternal honour to his name.

CROWNED AND WEDDED

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING

Two of the sons of George III., George IV. and William IV., lived to succeed him on the throne, but they left no children. The next heir was Victoria, daughter of Edward, Duke of Kent, the fourth son of George III. She was proclaimed queen in 1837, when but eighteen years of age. Victoria had been carefully educated for this high position and she keenly felt her heavy responsibility. In 1840 she was married to her cousin, Prince Albert of Coburg and Gotha.

When last before her people's face her own fair face she bent,

Within the meek projection of that shade she was content

To erase the child-smile from her lips, which seemed as if it might

Be still kept holy from the world to childhood still in

sight

To erase it with a solemn vow, a princely vow to

rule;

A priestly vow-to rule by grace of God the pitiful; A very godlike vow to rule in right and righteous

ness,

And with the law and for the land! so God the vower bless!

The minster was alight that day, but not with fire, I

ween,

And long-drawn glitterings swept adown that mighty aislèd scene.

The priests stood stolèd in their pomp, the sworded chiefs in theirs,

And so, the collared knights, and so, the civil minis

ters,

And so, the waiting lords and dames — and little pages best

At holding trains and legates so, from countries east and west.

So, alien princes, native peers, and high-born ladies

bright,

Along whose brows the Queen's, new crowned, flashed coronets to light.

And so, the people at the gates, with priestly hand on high,

Which bring the first anointing to all legal majesty. And so the Dead-who lie in rows beneath the minster floor,

There, verily, an awful state maintaining evermore; The statesman whose clean palm will kiss no bribe whate'er it be,

The courtier who, for no fair queen, will rise up to his knee,

The court-dame who, for no court-tire, will leave her shroud behind,

The laureate who no courtlier rhyme than "dust to dust" can find,