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• The tree before him fell

Which we cherish'd many a year, But its deep root yet shall swell

And heave against his bier.

“ The land that I have tillid,

Hath yet its brooding breast With


home's white ashes fill'dAnd it shall not give him rest.

“Here each proud column's bed

Hath been wet by weeping eyes, Hence ! and bestow your dead

Where no wrong against him cries !”

Shame glow'd 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 !

They lower'd 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 conquer'd regions wide,

But he shall not slumber there.

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“By the violated hearth

Which made way for yon proud shrine, By the harvests which this earth

Hath borne to me and mine;




By the home ev’n here o’erthrown,

On my children's native spot,Hence! with his dark renown

Cumber our birth-place not !

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One deep voice thus arose

From a heart which wrongs had rivenOh! who shall number those

That were but heard in Heaven ? *

* For the particulars of this and other scarcely less remarkable circumstances which attended the obsequies of William the Conqueror, see Sismondi's Histoire des Frangais, vol. iv. p. 480.


Thou art sounding on, thou mighty sea,

For ever and the same !
The ancient rocks yet ring to thee,

Whose thunders nought can tame.

Oh! many a glorious voice is gone,

From the rich bowers of earth, And hush'd is many a lovely one

Of mournfulness or mirth.

The Dorian flute that sigh’d of yore

Along thy wave, is still ;
The harp of Judah peals no more

On Zion's awful hill.

And Memnon's lyre hath lost the chord

That breath'd the mystic tone, And the songs, at Rome's high triumphs pour’d,

Are with her eagles flown.

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