Nor unattended; and, when all are there,

Pours out his spirit in the House of Prayer,

That House with many a funeral-garland hung"

Of virgin-white-memorials of the

young,

The last yet fresh when marriage-chimes were ringing,

And hope and joy in other hearts were springing;

That House where Age led in by Filial Love,

Their looks composed, their thoughts on things above,

The world forgot, or all its wrongs forgiven-

Who would not say they trod the path to Heaven?

Nor at the fragrant hour-at early dawn

Under the beech-tree on his level lawn,

Or in his porch is he less duly found,

When they that cry for Justice gather round,

And in that cry her sacred voice is drowned;

His then to hear and weigh and arbitrate,

Like Alfred judging at his palace-gate.

Healed at his touch, the wounds of discord close;

And they return as friends, that came as foes.

Thus, while the world but claims its proper part,

Oft in the head but never in the heart,

His life steals on; within his quiet dwelling

That home-felt joy all other joys excelling.

Sick of the crowd, when enters he-nor then

Forgets the cold indifference of men?

—But nothing lasts. In Autumn at his plough

Met and solicited, behold him now

Serving the State again-not as before,

Not foot to foot, the war-whoop at his door,

But in the Senate; and (though round him fly

The jest, the sneer, the subtle sophistry,)

With honest dignity, with manly sense,

And every charm of natural eloquence,

Like Hampden struggling in his Country's cause,'

The first, the foremost to obey the laws,

The last to brook oppression. On he moves,

Careless of blame while his own heart approves,

Careless of ruin-(" For the general good

"Tis not the first time I shall shed my blood.")

On through that gate misnamed, through which before

Went Sidney, Russel, Raleigh, Cranmer, More,

On into twilight within walls of stone,

Then to the place of trial;' and alone,'

Alone before his judges in array

Stands for his life: there, on that awful day,

Counsel of friends-all human help denied-
All but from her who sits the pen to guide,

Like that sweet Saint who sate by Russel's side"
Under the Judgment-seat.-But guilty men

Triumph not always. To his hearth again,

Again with honour to his hearth restored,

Lo, in the accustomed chair and at the board,

Thrice greeting those that most withdraw their claim,

(The humblest servant calling by his name)

G

He reads thanksgiving in the eyes of all,

All met as at a holy festival!

-On the day destined for his funeral!

Lo, there the Friend, who, entering where he lay,

Breathed in his drowsy ear

66

Away, away!

Take thou my cloak-Nay, start not, but obey—
Take it and leave me." And the blushing Maid,

Who through the streets as through a desert strayed;
And, when her dear, dear Father passed along,
Would not be held-but, bursting through the throng,

Halberd and battle-axe-kissed him o'er and o'er;

Then turned and went-then sought him as before,

Believing she should see his face no more!