VVfiSTMINSTER ABBET. 25l 



the whirlwind, hewing himself a way through the mass of his foes, all 

 reeking with gore, which gushes forth at every stroke of his ponderous 

 battle axe. ******* 



Now the scene shifts, and, what we would call a more enlightened 

 generation fills the "places which once knew their fathers." The Phil- 

 osopher is sitting in his study ; and, whilst his own mind is bursting 

 the bonds which heretofore fettered it, he is opening up a way to Truth, 

 upheaving the foundations of Error, clearing away every obstruction 

 that might impede the progress of others, and giving to Science the No- 

 vum Organum, by which she has ever since been guided. The States- 

 man is standing among the assembled powers of the realm, who watch, 

 as from an oracle, the words of sage wisdom which drop from his lips. 

 And then, from afar, come swelling the notes of the Swan of Avon — 

 sounds that gain in sweetness and force, the farther they roll from the 

 source whence they sprang. # * * # * 



What mean the sounds which now burst upon our ears ? The heavy 

 tolling of the deep-toned bell, and the sullen, measured roar of distant 

 cannon ! What mean the habiliments of wo and the mourners going 

 about the streets ^ "Know ye not, that there is a Prince and a great 

 man fallen this day in Israel !" The silver cord has been loosed, and 

 they are bearing him to his long home, the tomb of the Kings, the grey- 

 old Abbey. Its massy portals open wide to receive the d«st of him, 

 who, but a few years before, had the crown placed upon his head within 

 its walls. Mark the pomp, the palling pageantry, and then, for a mo- 

 ment, turn with us to a different scene, which is transpiring in another 

 part of this same realm. Before the door of a humble cottage are as- 

 sembled a few sturdy peasants, to perform the last sad act of this world, 

 for one to whom they had looked up as to a father. No empty parade 

 mocks the stroke of Death ; and when the hour arrives, a grey-headed 

 old man rises and places himself in front of the body. All heads are 

 uncovered, and the old man, whilst his thin locks are moved by the 

 breeze, raises his clasped hands and utters a short but feeling prayer. 

 The plain deal coffin is jaised, and borne along at the head of the little 

 procession to the village church-yard. They stand around the grave, 

 and then 



"They lay liis silver temples in their last repose." 



Silence reigns around. The old man approaches the grave. With one 

 hand he removes his hat from his brow, the other he raises, and bend- 

 ing forward, whilst a tear starting from his eye rolls down his furrowed 

 cheek, his thin lips move, and he breathes, "Dust thou art, and unto dust 

 thou shah return." The clods roll upon the coffin — he turns away — all 



