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Nor would I like to spread
on the wings of air
I know not and I heed not where -
Or flung upon the stream,
As through the changes of a dream,
Who that hath ever been,
Could bear to be no more?
On, with intense desire,
Man's spirit will move on;
It seems to die, yet, like heaven's fire,
It is not quench'd, but gone.
COMFORT IN AFFLICTION.
OH! Thou who dry'st the mourner's tear,
If, when deceiv'd and wounded here,
The friends who in our sunshine live,
But Thou wilt heal that broken heart,
When joy no longer soothes or cheers,
Oh! who would bear life's stormy doom,
Come, brightly wafting through the gloom
touch'd by Thee, grows bright
With more than rapture's ray;
As darkness shows us worlds of light
We never saw by day!
THE FUNERAL OF WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR.
AT CAEN IN NORMANDY, 1087.1
The Conqueror was buried in the church of St. Stephen, which he had built, but his funeral was singularly interrupted. At the moment that the coffin was being lowered into the grave, a man of low degree, raising himself from the crowd, exclaimed, "Clerks, Bishops, this land is mine; it was the site of my father's house; the man for whom you pray took it from me by force to build his church. I have not sold my ground, I have not pawned it, I have not given it; it is my right, and I claim it. In the name of Heaven, I forbid that the body of the spoiler be placed there, and that it be covered by my
Down the long minster's aisle
Through mists of incense gleam'd.
And by the torches' blaze
They lower'd him, with the sound
"Forbear! forbear!" it cried;
"By the violated hearth
Which made way for yon proud shrine;
"By the house e'en here o'erthrown,
Cumber our birth-place not!
glebe." The man who spoke was named Asselin, and all the bystanders confirmed the truth of his assertions. The Bishops made him approach, and agreed to pay him sixty sous for the place of sepulture alone, and to compensate him justly for the rest of the ground.-THIERRY'S Hist. of the Conquest of England by the Normans.
"Will my sire's unransom'd field, O'er which your censers wave, To the buried spoiler yield
Soft slumbers in the grave.
"The tree before him fell
Which we cherish'd many a year, But its deep root yet shall swell, And heave against his bier.
"The land that I have till'd
Hath yet its brooding breast With my home's white ashes fill'd, And it shall not give him rest!
"Each pillar's massy bed
Hath he wet by weeping eyesAway! bestow your dead
Where no wrong against him cries."
Shame glow'd on each dark face
Of those proud and steel-girt men, And they bought with gold a place For their leader's dust e'en then.
A little earth for him
Whose banner flew so far! And a peasant's tale could dim The name, a nation's star!
One deep voice thus arose
From a heart which wrongs had riven;
Oh! who shall number those
That were but heard in Heaven?
A MOTHER'S LOVE.
HAST thou sounded the depths of yonder sea,
Hast thou talk'd with the bless'd, of leading on
Evening and morn hast thou watch'd the bee,
Hast thou gone with the traveller, Thought, afar,
Thou hast but in ocean, earth, or sea,
There is not a grand inspiring thought,
And ever, since earth began, that look
To win them back from the lore they prize
There are teachings in earth, in sky, and air
MISS EMILY TAYLOR.