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Armed at point, exactly, cap-a-pie,
Ham. But where was this ?
Hor. My lord, I did ;
up its head, and did address
Ham. 'Tis very strange.
Hor. As I do live, my honour'd lord, 'tis true :
Ham. Indeed, indeed, Sirs, but this troubles me.
All. We do, my lord.
Ham. Then saw you not
Hor. O, yes, my lord; he wore his beaver up.
Hor. A countenance more
Ham. Very like,
Hor. While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred.
Mar. & Ber. Longer, longer.
Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life,
Ham. I will watch to-night; Perchance 'twill walk again.
Hor. I warrant, it will.
Ham. If it assume my noble father's person,
All. Our duty to your honour.
Ham. Your loves, as mine to you; Farewell. My father's spirit in arms! all is not well : I doubt some foul play: 'would that the night were
come! Till then sit still, my soul : Foul deeds will rise, Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes.
THE FUNERAL OF THE DUKE OF
No sounds of labour vexed the quiet air
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 As eye can reach the creaming waves press on
Impatient; or, as trees that bow their tops
In his cell
east, Slow moving in the silence : casque and plume, And banner waving sad; the marvellous state Of heralds, soldiers, nobles, foreign powers, With baton, or with pennon ; princes, peers, Judges, and dignities of church and state, And warriors grown grey-headed ;-every form Which greatness can assume or honour name, Peaceful or warlike --each and all were there; Trooping in sable sorrow after him Who slept serene upon his funeral car In glorious rest! . . . A child might understand That 'twas no national sorrow, but a grief Wide as the world. A child might understand That all mankind were sorrowing for one ! That banded nations had conspired to pay This homage to the chief who drew his sword At the command of Duty ; kept it bright Through perilous days; and soon as Victory smiled, Laid it, unsullied, in the lap of Peace.
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
Was straightened for the grave; and, as the folds
Rested, like mockery, on his covered brow. 2. The soldiers of the king trod to and fro,
Clad in the garb of battle; and their chief,
And left him with his dead. 3.
The king stood still
In the resistless eloquence of woe :-
Thou, who wert made so beautifully fair ;That Death should settle in thy glorious eye,
And leave his stillness in this clustering hair ! How could he mark thee for the silent tomb,
My proud boy, Absalom ?