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Ah, the great bell tolleth ; never blow
Flows not twice the self-same river.
It is gone for ever.
Ah, the great bell tolls! but through the cloud
Larger-eyed, and broader-brow'd,
Is the Archbishop bow'd.
Leave him with the Bishop of our souls.
Need is none of Fame's false scrolls.
(DIED TUESDAY, JUNE 17TH, 1862.)
(From “ Punch," June 28, 1862.)
ONE more strong swimmer gone down in the deep.
But not in mist of storm and breakers' roar :
He had fought through the surf and gained the shore, His native England's windy whitewalled steep,
Which he had toiled, and borne so much, to reach,
Ah, little did we think, who cheered him in,
How busy Death was mining all within !
He waved acclaim and greetings of the crowd,
And only prayed he might be left at peace,
In pomp's eclipse and toil's well-earned surcease Toil that had stemmed disease, and grief o'eroowed.
We who had seen him striving with the storm,
In that dread time when England's Empire reeled,
Till her foes shouted : “Lo, her doom is sealed!"
Base creatures on sore-stricken England pressed,
We who then watched him, patient, calm, and strong,
Not paying hate with hate, and wrong with wrong,
We deemed him steeled of body as of soul,
And when Death took his partner from his side,
And left him lone, his weary lot to abide,
And when we knew that his return was nigh,
We planned him labours new and honours high,
He has received but onean honoured grave;
Where knightly banners in the Abbey wave
Above him, cold and coffined, through the street
Where oft, we hoped, he would in council meet
Comes he to Westminster, but for his grave,
Where write, “He died for duty-modest, brave,
THE INTERNATIONAL EXHIBITION.
CANTATA by the Poet LAUREATE. Sung by Music composed by Professor Sterndale Bennett at the Opening of the International Exhibition, May 1, 1862.
UPLIFT a thousand voices full and sweet,
In this wide hall with earth's invention stored,
And praise the invisible universal Lord,
Where Science, Art, and Labour have outpour'd
O, silent father of our Kings to be,
The world-compelling plan was thine,
And lo! the long laborious miles
Of Palace; lo! the giant aisles,
Brought from under every star,
The works of peace with works of war.
THE TWO QUEENS IN THE EXHIBITION.
(On the Night of May 1st, 1862.)
The day's labour done,
Pealed but now like one ;
Here I pace alone,
To the empty throne.
Through the vasty void of silence
Did I hear a sound ?
Fireman on his round ?
Transept, nave, and aisle ?
Or his moon-lit tile?
Walks no fireman so;
Heavy-heeled and slow.
Radiance like that:
Crowned policeman's hat.
Of the nave have grown!
Near the empty throne.
Either radiant brow,
These be Queens I trow.
Giant-like of limb;
Fire her crown doth rim ;
Like Great Thor's of old :
'Neath her garment's fold. Fair the other, with a beauty
Passing buman far;
And her crown a star.
Blent in form and face,
When she moves, 'tis grace.
These two Queens were known,
Pressed the vacant throne.
Fair Queen Art was fain :
Waived the throne again.
“ Yours," quoth Art, " is this profusion
Of the fruits of toil,
Growth of seed and soil.
Honey of men's hives;
Makes or mars their lives." “ Nay," quoth Handicraft, “ the roughing
of the mass is mine ;
Moulding by design.
Iron, brass and gold,
Gorgeous to behold!" “ Spak'st thou sooth," fair Art protested,
“ Thou prevail'st no more ; Mine the hand which shapes the coinage,
Thine which digs the ore.
Chain'd to thy behest,
Dost as likes thee best."
“On the upper floor Moved I not through long-drawn galleries,
Graced with all thy store ? Where on canvas or in marble
Thou thy might hast shown-
Claiming for thine own?"
Each, in answer fit,
On the throne should sit.
Between smile and sigh,-“Needs there proof, that to this throning
Ne'er a claim have I ? * Look around; though all these treasures
of thy wide domain
It would still be plain.
Place nor part I owe,
To the sheds below.