The works of Mrs. Hemans With a memoir of her life, by her sister. In seven volumes |
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The works of Mrs. Hemans | ||
THE BURIAL OF WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR,
AT CAEN IN NORMANDY—1087.
Lowly upon his bier
The royal conqueror lay;
Baron and chief stood near,
Silent in war-array.
The royal conqueror lay;
Baron and chief stood near,
Silent in war-array.
Down the long minster's aisle
Crowds mutely gazing stream'd,
Altar and tomb the while
Through mists of incense gleam'd.
Crowds mutely gazing stream'd,
Altar and tomb the while
Through mists of incense gleam'd.
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And, by the torches' blaze,
The stately priest had said
High words of power and praise
To the glory of the dead.
The stately priest had said
High words of power and praise
To the glory of the dead.
They lower'd him, with the sound
Of requiems, to repose;
When from the throngs around
A solemn voice arose:—
Of requiems, to repose;
When from the throngs around
A solemn voice arose:—
“Forbear! forbear!” it cried,
“In the holiest name forbear!
He hath conquered regions wide,
But he shall not slumber there!
“In the holiest name forbear!
He hath conquered regions wide,
But he shall not slumber there!
“By the violated hearth
Which made way for yon proud shrine;
By the harvests which this earth
Hath borne for me and mine;
Which made way for yon proud shrine;
By the harvests which this earth
Hath borne for me and mine;
“By the house e'en here o'erthrown,
On my brethren's native spot;
Hence! with his dark renown,
Cumber our birthplace not!
On my brethren's native spot;
Hence! with his dark renown,
Cumber our birthplace not!
“Will my sire's unransom'd field,
O'er which your censers wave,
To the buried spoiler yield
Soft slumbers in the grave?
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.
Which we cherish'd many a year,
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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!
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 been wet by weeping eyes—
Away! bestow your dead
Where no wrong against him cries.”
Hath been wet by weeping eyes—
Away! 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.
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!
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?
From a heart which wrongs had riven:
Oh! who shall number those
That were but heard in heaven?
The works of Mrs. Hemans | ||