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The Funeral of the Duke of Wellington.
the wealth of nations, to enter into statistical research, and to encounter each other in fiscal controversy—we present to the world the most sublime and touching spectacle that human circumstances can well produce—the spectacle of a senate mourning a hero!"—Disraeli's Speech on the Death of the Duke of Wellington.
No sounds of labour vexed the quiet air
From morn till eve. The people all stood still,
And earth won back a Sabbath. There were none
Who cared to buy or sell and make a gain
For one whole day. All felt as they had lost
A father, and were fain to keep within,
Silent or speaking little. Such a day
An old man sees but once in all his time.
From morn till eve. The people all stood still,
And earth won back a Sabbath. There were none
Who cared to buy or sell and make a gain
For one whole day. All felt as they had lost
A father, and were fain to keep within,
Silent or speaking little. Such a day
An old man sees but once in all his time.
The simplest peasant in the land that day
Knew somewhat of his country's grief. He hoard
The knell of England's hero from the tower
Of the old church, and asked the cause and sighed.
The veteran 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.
Knew somewhat of his country's grief. He hoard
The knell of England's hero from the tower
Of the old church, and asked the cause and sighed.
The veteran 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
One way when Alpine hollows bring one way
The blast whereat they quiver in the vale,
So millions pressed to swell the general grief
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!
(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
One way when Alpine hollows bring one way
The blast whereat they quiver in the vale,
So millions pressed to swell the general grief
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!
