STANZAS TO THE MEMORY OF
GEORGE THE THIRD.

"Among many nations was there no King like him."—Nehemiah. "Know ye not that there is a prince and a great man fallen this day in Israel!'"—Samuel.

Another warning sound! the funeral bell,

Startling the cities of the isle once more With measured tones of melancholy swell,

Strikes on th* awaken'd heart from shore to shore. He, at whose coming monarchs sink to dust,

The chambers of our palaces hath trod, And the long-suffering spirit of the just,

Pure from its ruins, hath return'd to God! Yet may not England o'er her Father weep; Thoughts to her bosom crowd, too many, and too deep.

Vain voice of Reason, hush!—they yet must flow,

The unrestrain'd, involuntary tears; A thousand feelings sanctify the wo,

Roused by the glorious shades of vanish'd years. Tell us no more 'tis not the time for grief,

Now that the exile of the soul is past,

And Death, blest messenger of Heaven's relief,
Hath borne the wanderer to his rest at last;
For him, eternity hath tenfold day,
We feel, we know, 'tis thus—yet nature will have
way.

What though amidst us, like a blasted oak,

Sadd'ning the scene where once it nobly reign'd, A dread memorial of the lightning stroke,

Stamp'd with its fiery record, he remain'd; Around that shatter'd tree still fondly clung

Th' undying tendrils of our love, which drew
Fresh nurture from its deep decay, and sprung

Luxuriant thence, to Glory's ruin true;
While England hung her trophies on the stem,
That desolately stood, unconscious e'en of Them.

Of them unconscious! Oh mysterious doom!

Who shall unfold the counsels of the skies? His was the voice which roused, as from the tomb,

The realm*s high soul to loftiest energies! His was the spirit, o'er the isles which threw

The mantle of its fortitude; and wrought In every bosom, powerful to renew

Each dying spark of pure and generous thought; The star of tempests ! beaming on the mast,* The seaman's torch of Hope, 'midst perils deepening fast.

* The glittering meteor, like a star, which often appears about a ship during tempests; if seen upon the main-mast, is considered by the sailors as an omen of good weather.— See Dampieb's Voyages.

Then from th' unslumbering influence of his worth,

Strength, as of inspiration, filTd the land; A young, but quenchless, flame went brightly forth,

Kindled by him—who saw it not expand! Such was the will of heaven—the gifted seer,

Who with his God had communed, face to face, And from the house of bondage, and of fear,

In faith victorious, led the chosen race;
He through the desert and the waste their guide,
Saw dimly from afar, the promised land—and died.

O full of days and virtues! on thy head
Centred the woes of many a bitter lot;

Fathers have sorrow'd o'er their beauteous dead,
Eyes, quench'd in night, the sunbeam have forgot;

Minds have striven buoyantly with evil years, And sunk beneath their gathering weight at length;

But Pain for thee had filTd a cup of tears,

Where every anguish mingled all its strength; By thy lost child we saw thee weeping stand, And shadows deep around fell from th* Eternal's hand.

Then came the noon of glory, which thy dreams

Perchance of yore had faintly prophesied; But what to thee the splendour of its beams?

The ice-rock glows not 'midst the summer's pride! Nations leap'd up to joy—as streams that burst,

At the warm touch of spring, their frozen chain, And o'er the plains, whose verdure once they nursed.

Roll in exulting melody again;

And bright o'er earth the long majestic line Of England's triumphs swept, to rouse all hearts— but thine.

Oh! what a dazzling vision, by the veil

That o'er thy spirit hung, was shut from thee, When sceptred chieftains throng'd with palms to hail

The crowning isle, th' anointed of the sea! Within thy palaces the lords of earth

Met to rejoice—rich pageants glitter'd by, And stately revels imaged, in their mirth,

The old magnificence of chivalry. They reach'd not thee—amidst them, yet alone, Stillness and gloom begirt one dim and shadowy throne.

Yet there was mercy still—if joy no more

Within that blasted circle might intrude,
Earth had no grief whose footstep might pass o'er

The silent limits of its solitude!
If all unheard the bridal song awoke

Our hearts' full echoes, as it swelTd on high;
Alike unheard the sudden dirge, that broke

On the glad strain, with dread solemnity! If the land's rose unheeded wore its bloom, Alike unfelt the storm that swept it to the tomb.

And she, who, tried through all the stormy past, Severely, deeply proved, in many an hour,

Watch'd o'er thee, firm and faithful to the last, Sustain'd, inspired, by strong affection's power; If to thy soul her voice no music bore—

If thy closed eye and wandering spirit caught

No light from looks, that fondly would explore
Thy mien, for traces of responsive thought;

Oh! thou wert spared the pang that would have thrilPd

Thine inmost heart, when death that anxious bosom still'd.

Thy loved ones fell around thee. Manhood's prime,

Youth, with its glory, in its fulness, age, All, at the gates of their eternal clime

Lay down, and closed their mortal pilgrimage; The land wore ashes for its perish'd flowers,

The grave's imperial harvest. Thou, meanwhiler Didst walk unconscious through thy royal towers,

The one that wept not in the tearful isle! As a tired warrior, on his battle-plain, Breathes deep in dreams amidst the mourners and the slain.

And who can tell what visions might be thine? The stream of thought, though broken, still was pure!

Still o'er that wave the stars of heaven might shine,
Where earthly image would no more endure J

Though many a step, of once-familiar sound,
Came as a stranger's o'er thy closing ear,

And voices breathed forgotten tones around,

Which that paternal heart once thrilPd to hear;

The mind hath senses of its own, and powers

To people boundless worlds, in its most wandering hours.