THE FUNERAL OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON. No sounds of labour From morn till eve. vexed the quiet air The people all stood still, And earth won back a Sabbath. There were none The simplest peasant in the land that day Knew somewhat of his country's grief. He heard The knell of England's hero from the tower Of the old church, and asked the cause, and sighed. The vet'ran who had bled on some far field, Fought o'er the battle for the thousandth time With quaint addition; and the little child, That stopped his sport to run and ask his sire What it all meant, picked out the simple tale,How he who drove the French from Waterloo, And crushed the tyrant of the world, and made His country great and glorious,—he was dead. All, from the simplest to the stateliest, knew But one sad story,-from the cottar's bairn Up to the fair-haired lady on the throne, Who sat within and sorrowed for her friend : And every tear she shed became her well, And seemed more lovely in her people's eyes Than all the starry wonders of her crown. But, as the waters of the Northern Sea, (When one strong wind blows steady from the pole,) Come hurrying to the shore, and far and wide Impatient; or, as trees that bow their tops One way ;-for once all men seemed one way drawn ; Or if through evil hap and unforeseen, Some stayed behind, their hearts, at least, were there The whole day through,—could think of nothing else, Hear nothing else, see nothing! In his cell The student saw the pageant; spied from far The long drawn pomp which reached from west to east, Slow moving in the silence: casque and plume, Who slept serene upon his funeral car In glorious rest! . . . A child might understand Through perilous days; and soon as Victory smiled, ANONYMOUS. The poem from which the foregoing extract is taken appeared anonymously shortly after the death of the Duke of Wellington, in 1852, and attracted much attention at the time. DAVID'S LAMENT FOR ABSALOM. [NATHANIEL P. WILLIS, one of the foremost American writers, was born 20th January, 1807, and died January, 1867. He was the founder of the American Monthly Magazine, which has done much to foster literature in America.] 1. THE pall was settled. He who slept beneath His helm was at his feet: his banner soiled 3. And left him with his dead. The king stood still 4. "Alas, my noble boy! that thou shouldst die! 5. "Cold is thy brow, my son! and I am chill, As to my bosom I have tried to press thee! How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill, Like a rich harp-string, yearning to caress thee, And hear thy sweet 'my father!' from those dumb And cold lips, Absalom! 6. "The grave hath won thee! I shall hear the gush Of music, and the voices of the young; And life will pass me in the mantling blush, · And the dark tresses to the soft wings flung ;— But thou no more with thy sweet voice shalt come To meet me, Absalom! 7." And oh! when I am stricken, and my heart, Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken, How will its love for thee, as I depart, Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token! It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom, To see thee, Absalom! 8. "And now, farewell! "Tis hard to give thee up, 9. He covered up his face, and bowed himself N. P. WILLIS. SATAN'S ADDRESS TO THE SUN. [JOHN MILTON, next to Shakespeare, the most illustrious of the whole line of English poets, was born on the 9th December, 1608. His two great works are "Paradise Lost," and "Paradise Regained." He lived through the troublesome times of the Commonwealth, and died on 8th November, 1674. Our extract is from the fourth book of "Paradise Lost." Satan had left Hell in search of the newly-created Earth, that he might, if possible, seduce man from his allegiance to God. After passing through the kingdom of chaos or darkness, he comes in sight of the Sun, the view of which causes him to break out as in the extract.] O THOU, that, with surpassing glory crown'd, |