Of Time's deep flood, as thrones, and kings,
And crowns, and all earth's proudest things,
It scatter'd at thy feet.

And now, as 'neath thy arch I stand,
I seem upon the earth's wide strand,
And round about me cast,

Upon the dark and silent shore,

The richest freights it ever bore,
The glory of the past.

Oh! how the pageants rise, and swim,
And vanish round my vision dim!—
I see the solemn funeral train,
That bears a monarch to his tomb;

The tall plumes waving through the gloom,
The mournful requiem train.

The priest's low chant, the mutter'd prayer, The tread of warriors, all are there;

And high above, the toll

Of the deep bell whose heavy knell

Blends with the organ's mighty swell,

O'er the departed soul.

'Tis gone! and through the portals wide Comes rolling in a living tide;

And hark! far echoed out,

Whence comes that high and deafening peal,

Till e'en these steadfast turrets reel ?

It is a nation's shout.

VOL. I.

Oh! how the gorgeous, proud array
Is pressing through the crowded way,
With drum and trumpet tone!

But who now halts within the door?
A monarch's foot is on the floor,
His eye upon a throne.

His lip is wreathing in a smile,
As passing down the foot-worn aisle,
The banners droop around him;
But oh! his thoughts are not on those
Who hail him as he proudly goes

To where the lordly crown him.

His heart in this exciting hour
Doth dream exultingly of power
The given crown shall bring;
And triumph sits within that eye,
As, thundering round him, wild and high,
Resounds, "God save the king!"

"Tis vanished!" like a morning cloud"The throne, the king, the shouting crowd, And here I stand alone;

And like the ocean's solemn roar
Upon some distant, desert shore,
A low, perpetual moan.

I seem to hear the steady beat
Of century-waves around my feet,
As generations vast

Are borne unto the dim-seen strand

Of that untrodden, silent land,

That covers all the past.

I'm with the dead; and at my feet
The graves of two proud queens here meet-
One arch gives ample room

For whom an empire was too small.
Proud rival hearts! and is this all?
A narrow, silent tomb !

Here, too, are slumbering side by side,
Like brother-warriors true and tried,
Two stern and haughty foes:
Their stormy hearts are still-the tongue,
On which enraptured thousands hung,
Is hush'd in long repose.

I see the poet's broken lyre,

O'er which were utter'd words of fire;

The hero's shiver'd sword;

The sage's tomes; the wreath of fame—

All drifting to the dark inane,

And no returning word.

Old Abbey! on my thoughtful heart,

A lesson that shall ne'er depart,

Thy silent walls have left;

And now, more wise than I have been,

I step into the living stream

Again, and onward drift,

Faithfully yours, &c.,

London, June 12, 1840.

DEAR

THIS morning Mr., one of the distinguished philanthropists of Great Britain, called at my lodgings to go with me to the Freemasons' Hall, where the World's Convention was to assemble. He greeted me very cordially, and seemed disposed to render me those kind civilities which a stranger in a foreign land best knows how to appreciate.

In passing through Ave Maria-lane, a small street that runs from Ludgate Hill into Paternoster Row, the great book emporium, we met two children, about eight years old, who prostrated themselves on their knees before us, and implored us to buy a penny book they held in their hand, for they had eaten nothing, they said, for two days.

The side-walk was very narrow, and Mr.

- pulled me by the arm, saying, "Let us cross over."

"We will wait a moment, if you please," I replied; "I want to ask these children a few questions."

"Oh, sir," he answered, "if we stop to talk with every beggar we meet between this and Great Queen-street, we shall find business enough for the day;" at the same time he pulled my arm a little harder than before, and manifested considerable impatience.

"If you are particularly anxious to go on," I remarked, "I must beg you to excuse me, for I cannot leave these children without knowing something more about them."

66

Oh, sir," he replied, "certainly we will stop if you wish." I did wish to stop.

The little children were still kneeling on the pavement. A coarse hempen sack, with holes for the neck and arms, constituted their entire dress, and this was falling from them by pieces. The countenances of both were lean and pallid, but there was great beauty, or, rather, there