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The Burial of William the Conqueror.

Down the long minster's aisle

Crowds mutely gazing streamed;
Altar and tomb the while

Through mists of incense gleamed.

And, by the torches' blaze,

The stately priest had said
High words of power and praise
To the glory of the dead.

They lowered him, with the sound
Of requiems, to repose;
When from the throngs around
A solemn voice arose :-

"Forbear! forbear!" it cried;
"In the holiest name, forbear!
He hath conquered regions wide,
But he shall not slumber there!

"By the violated hearth ́

Which made way for yon proud shrine; By the harvest which this earth

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Hath borne for me and mine;

By the house e'en here o'erthrown,
On my brethren's native spot;
Hence! with his dark renown,
Cumber our birthplace not!

"Will my sire's unransomed field,

O'er which your censers wave,

To the buried spoiler yield

Soft slumbers in the grave!

The Burial of William the Conqueror. 185

"The tree before him fell

Which we cherished many a year;
But its deep root yet shall swell,
And heave against his bier.

"The land that I have tilled
Hath yet its brooding breast
With my home's white ashes filled,
And it shall not give him rest!

"Each pillar's massy bed

Hath been wet by weeping eyes—
Away! bestow your dead

Where no wrong against him cries."

Shame glowed on each dark face

Of those proud and steel-girt men,
And they bought with gold a place
For their leader's dust e'en then.

A little earth for him

Whose banner flew so far!
And a peasant's tale could dim
The name, a nation's star!

One deep voice thus arose

From a heart which wrongs had riven :

Oh! who shall number those

That were but heard in heaven?

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The Wanderer and the Night-Flowers.

THE WANDERER AND THE NIGHT.
FLOWERS.

ALL back your odours, lovely flowers!

CALL

From the night-winds call them back; And fold your leaves till the laughing hours Come forth in the sunbeam's track!

"The lark lies couched in her grassy nest,
And the honey-bee gone,

And all bright things are away to rest-
Why watch ye here alone?

"Is not your world a mournful one,

When your sisters close their eyes,

And your soft breath meets not a lingering tone
Of song in the starry skies?

06 Take ye no joy in the dayspring's birth
When it kindles the sparks of dew?

And the thousand strains of the forest's mirth,
Shall they gladden all but you?

"Shut your sweet bells till the fawn comes out
On the sunny turf to play,

And the woodland child with a fairy shout
Goes dancing on its way!"

"Nay! let our shadowy beauty bloom

When the stars give quiet light,
And let us offer our faint perfume
On the silent shrine of night.

The Home of Love.

"Call it not wasted, the scent we lend
To the breeze, when no step is nigh:
Oh, thus for ever the earth should send
Her grateful breath on high!

"And love us as emblems, night's dewy flowers,
Of hopes unto sorrow given,

That spring through the gloom of the darkest hours
Looking alone to heaven!"

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THE HOME OF LOVE.

HOU mov'st in visions, Love! Around thy way,

T'en thro' this world's rough path and changeful day,

For ever floats a gleam

Not from the realms of moonlight or the morn,
But thine own soul's illumined chambers born-
The colouring of a dream!

Love! shall I read thy dream? Oh! is it not
All of some sheltering wood-embosomed spot-
A bower for thee and thine?

Yes! lone and lowly is that home; yet there
Something of heaven in the transparent air
Makes every flower divine.

Something that mellows and that glorifies,
Breathes o'er it ever from the tender skies,
As o'er some blessed isle;

E'en like the soft and spiritual glow

Kindling rich woods whereon th' ethereal bow
Sleeps lovingly awhile.

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The Home of Love.

The very whispers of the wind have there
A flute-like harmony, that seems to bear
Greeting from some bright shore,

Where none have said farewell!-where no decay
Lends the faint crimson to the dying day;
Where the storm's might is o'er.

And there thou dreamest of Elysian rest,
In the deep sanctuary of one true breast
Hidden from earthly ill :

There wouldst thou watch the homeward step, whose sound
Wakening all nature to sweet echoes round,
Thine inmost soul can thrill.

There by the hearth should many a glorious page,
From mind to mind th' immortal heritage,

For thee its treasures pour;

Or music's voice at vesper hours be heard,
Or dearer interchange of playful word,
Affection's household lore.

And the rich unison of mingled prayer,
The melody of hearts in heavenly air,
Thence duly should arise;

Lifting th' eternal hope, th' adoring breath,
Of spirits, not to be disjoined by death,
Up to the starry skies.

There, dost thou well believe, no storm should come
To mar the stillness of that angel home;

There should thy slumbers be

Weighed down with honey-dew, serenely bless'd,
Like theirs who first in Eden's grove took rest
Under some balmy tree.