Mourn for the man of amplest influence, Yet clearest of ambitious crime; Our greatest, yet with least pretense, Great in council and great in war, Foremost captain of his time, Rich in saving common sense, And as the greatest only are, In his simplicity sublime.

O good gray head which all men knew, O voice from which their omens all men drew, O iron nerve to true occasion true, O fall'n at length that tower of strength, Which stood four-square to all the winds that Such was he whom we deplore!

The long self-sacrifice of life is o'er, The great world-victor's victor will be seen no more.

VI

Who is he that cometh like an honored guest, With banner and with music, with soldier and with priest, With a nation weeping and breaking on my rest?

Mighty seaman, this is he Was great by land as thou by sea.

Thine island loves thee well, thou famous man, The greatest sailor since our world began.

Now to the roll of m.u.f.fled drums To thee the greatest soldier comes; For this is he Was great by land as thou by sea; His foes were thine; he kept us free; O give him welcome, this is he Worthy of our gorgeous rites, And worthy to be laid by thee; For this is England's greatest son, He that gained a hundred fights Nor ever lost an English gun; This is he that far away Against the myriads of a.s.saye Clashed with his fiery few and won; And underneath another sun, Warring on a later day, Round affrighted Lisbon drew The treble works, the vast designs Of his labored rampart-lines, Where he greatly stood at bay, Whence he issued forth anew, And ever great and greater grew, Beating from the wasted vines Back to France her banded swarms, Back to France with countless blows, Till o'er the hills her eagles flew, Beyond the Pyrenean pines; Followed up in valley and glen With blare of bugle, clamor of men, Roll of cannon and clash of arms, And England pouring on her foes.

Such a war had such a close.

Again their ravening eagle rose In anger, wheel'd on Europe shadowing wings, And barking for the thrones of kings; Till one that sought but duty's iron crown, On that loud Sabbath shook the spoiler down; A day of onsets, of despair!

Dashed on every rocky square Their surging charges foamed themselves away; Last the Prussian trumpet blew; Thro' the long tormented air Heaven flashed a sudden jubilant ray, And down we swept and charged and overthrew.

So great a soldier taught us there What long-enduring hearts could do In that world-earthquake, Waterloo!

Mighty seaman, tender and true, And pure as he from taint of craven guile, O savior of the silver-coasted isle, O shaker of the Baltic and the Nile, If aught of things that here befall Touch a spirit among things divine, If love of country move thee there at all, Be glad because his bones are laid by thine!

And thro' the centuries let a people's voice In full acclaim, A people's voice, The proof and echo of all human fame, A people's voice, when they rejoice, At civic revel and pomp and game, Attest their great commander's claim With honor, honor, honor, honor to him, Eternal honor to his name.

VII

A people's voice! We are a people yet, Tho' all men else their n.o.bler dreams forget, Confused by brainless mobs and lawless powers; Thank Him who isled us here, and roughly set His Briton in blown seas and storming showers, We have a voice with which to pay the debt Of boundless love and reverence and regret To those great men who fought and kept it ours.

And keep it ours, O G.o.d, from brute control; O statesmen, guard us, guard the eye, the soul Of Europe, keep our n.o.ble England whole, And save the one true seed of freedom sown Betwixt a people and their ancient throne, That sober freedom, out of which there springs Our loyal pa.s.sion for our temperate kings; For, saving that, ye help to save mankind Till public wrong be crumbled into dust, And drill the raw world for the march of mind, Till crowds at length be sane and crowns be just.

But wink no more in slothful overtrust.

Remember him who led your hosts; He bade you guard the sacred coasts.

Your cannons molder on the seaward wall; His voice is silent in the council hall Forever; and whatever tempests lour Forever silent; even if they broke In thunder, silent; yet remember all He spoke among you, and the man who spoke; Who never sold the truth to serve the hour, Nor paltered with Eternal G.o.d for power; Who let the turbid streams of rumor flow Thro' either babbling world of high and low; Whose life was work; whose language rife With rugged maxims hewn from life; Who never spoke against a foe; Whose eighty winters freeze with one rebuke All great self-seekers trampling on the right: Truth-teller was our England's Alfred named; Truth-lover was our English Duke; Whatever record leap to light He never shall be shamed.

IX

Peace, his triumph will be sung By some yet unmolded tongue, Far on in summers that we shall not see; Peace, it is a day of pain For one about whose patriarchal knee Late the little children clung; O peace, it is a day of pain For one upon whose hand and heart and brain Once the weight and fate of Europe hung.

Ours the pain, be his the gain!

More than is of man's degree Must be with us, watching here At this, our great solemnity.

Whom we see not, we revere; We revere, and we refrain From talk of battles loud and vain, And brawling memories all too free.

For such a wise humility As befits a solemn fame: We revere, and while we hear The tides of music's golden sea Setting toward eternity, Uplifted high in heart and hope are we, Until we doubt not that for one so true There must be other n.o.bler work to do Than when he fought at Waterloo; And Victor he must ever be, For tho' the Giant Ages heave the hill And break the sh.o.r.e, and evermore Make and break and work their will; Tho' world on world in myriad myriads roll Round us, each with different powers, And other forms of life than ours, What know we greater than the soul?

On G.o.d and G.o.dlike men we build our trust.

Hush, the Dead March wails in the people's ears; The dark crowd moves, and there are sobs and tears: The black earth yawns; the mortal disappears; Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

He is gone who seemed so great-- Gone; but nothing can bereave him Of the force he made his own Being here, and we believe him Something far advanced in state, And that he wears a truer crown Than any wreath that man can weave him.

Speak no more of his renown, Lay your earthly fancies down, And in the vast cathedral leave him, G.o.d accept him, Christ receive him!

II

GEORGE CANNING

POLITICAL POETRY

["The Needy Knife-Grinder," which follows, was one of the most notable contributions which appeared in "The Anti-Jacobin." It is scarcely necessary to point out its satire upon the humanitarian sympathies of those Englishmen who had been carried away by the ideas of the French Revolution. The verses--a parody of Stanley's "Sapphics"--were the joint production of George Canning and John Hookham Frere.]

THE FRIEND OF HUMANITY AND THE NEEDY KNIFE-GRINDER

FRIEND OF HUMANITY

Needy knife-grinder! Whither are you going?

Rough is the road; your wheel is out of order; Bleak blows the blast; your hat has got a hole in't, So have your breeches!

Weary knife-grinder! little think the proud ones Who in their coaches roll along the turnpike Road, what hard work 'tis crying all day "Knives and Scissors to grind O!"

Tell me, knife-grinder, how you came to grind knives?

Did some rich man tyrannically use you?

Was it some squire? or parson of the parish?

Or the attorney?

Was it the squire for killing of his game? Or Covetous parson, for his t.i.thes distraining?

Or roguish lawyer, made you lose your little All in a lawsuit?

Have you not read the "Rights of Man," by Tom Paine?

Drops of compa.s.sion tremble on my eyelids, Ready to fall as soon as you have told your Pitiful story.

KNIFE-GRINDER

Story, G.o.d bless you, I have none to tell, sir; Only last night a-drinking at the Chequers, This poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were Torn in a scuffle.

Constables came up for to take me into Custody; they took me before the justice; Justice Oldmixon put me in the parish Stocks for a vagrant.

I should be glad to drink your honor's health in A pot of beer, if you will give me sixpence; But for my part I never love to meddle With politics, sir.

FRIEND OF HUMANITY

I give thee sixpence; I will see thee d.a.m.ned first, Wretch! whom no sense of wrongs Can rouse to vengeance!

Sordid, unfeeling, reprobate, degraded, Spiritless outcast!

[Kicks the K-g, overturns his wheel, and exit in a transport of republican enthusiasm and universal philanthropy.]

THE GOVERNMENT OF ENGLAND.

[The following extract from a speech on Parliamentary Reform affords an excellent example of his style of eloquence.]

Other nations, excited by the example of the liberty which this country has long possessed, have attempted to copy our Const.i.tution; and some of them have shot beyond it in the fierceness of their pursuit. I grudge not to other nations that share of liberty which they may acquire; in the name of G.o.d, let them enjoy it! But let us warn them that they lose not the object of their desire by the very eagerness with which they attempt to grasp it. Inheritors and conservators of national freedom, let us, while others are seeking it in restlessness and trouble, be a steady and shining light to guide their course; not a wandering meteor to bewilder and mislead them.

Let it not be thought that this is an unfriendly or disheartening counsel to those who are either struggling under the pressure of harsh government, or exulting in the novelty of sudden emanc.i.p.ation. It is addressed much rather to those who, though cradled and educated amidst the sober blessings of the British Const.i.tution, pant for other schemes of liberty than those which that Const.i.tution sanctions, other than are compatible with a just equality of civil rights, or with the necessary restraints of social obligations; of some of whom it may be said, in the language which Dryden puts into the mouth of one of the most extravagant of his heroes, that

"They would be free as nature first made man, Ere the base laws of servitude began, When wild in the woods the n.o.ble savage ran."