CONCLUSION.

So closed our tale, of which I give you all

The random scheme as wildly as it rose : The words are mostly mine; for when we ceased

There came a minute's pause, and Walter said,

'I wish she had not yielded!' then to me, 'What, if you drest it up poetically!' So pray'd the men, the women: I gave

assent :

Yet how to bind the scatter'd scheme of seven

Together in one sheaf? What style could

suit?

The men required that I should give throughout

The sort of mock-heroic gigantesque,

She flung it from her, thinking: last, she fixt

A showery glance upon her aunt, and said, 'You tell us what we are' who might have told,

For she was cramm'd with theories out of books,

But that there rose a shout: the gates were closed

At sunset, and the crowd were swarming now,

To take their leave, about the garden rails.

So I and some went out to these we climb'd

The slope to Vivian-place, and turning saw The happy valleys, half in light, and half Far-shadowing from the west, a land of peace;

The women-and perhaps they felt their

power,

For something in the ballads which they sang,

Or in their silent influence as they sat, Had ever seem'd to wrestle with burlesque, And drove us, last, to quite a solemn close

They hated banter, wish'd for something real,

A gallant fight, a noble princess—why Not make her true-heroic-true-sublime? Or all, they said, as earnest as the close? Which yet with such a framework scarce could be.

Then rose a little feud betwixt the two,
Betwixt the mockers and the realists:
And I, betwixt them both, to please them
both,

And yet to give the story as it rose,
I moved as in a strange diagonal,
And maybe neither pleased myself nor
them.

But Lilia pleased me, for she took no part

In our dispute: the sequel of the tale Had touch'd her; and she sat, she pluck'd the grass,

'Look there, a garden!' said my college friend,

The Tory member's elder son, 'and there!

God bless the narrow sea which keeps her off,

And keeps our Britain, whole within herself,

A nation yet, the rulers and the ruled-Some sense of duty, something of a faith, Some reverence for the laws ourselves have made,

Some patient force to change them when we will,

Some civic manhood firm against the crowd

But yonder, whiff! there comes a sudden heat,

Lead out the pageant: sad and slow, As fits an universal woe,

Let the long long procession go,

All is over and done :
Render thanks to the Giver,
England, for thy son.
Let the bell be toll'd.
Render thanks to the Giver,
And render him to the mould.
Under the cross of gold
That shines over city and river,
There he shall rest for ever
Among the wise and the bold.
Let the bell be toll'd:

And a reverent people behold
The towering car, the sable steeds:

grow,

And let the mournful martial music blow;

The last great Englishman is low.

IV.

Mourn, for to us he seems the last,

Dark in its funeral fold.

Let the bell be toll'd:

And a deeper knell in the heart be

knoll'd;

Past.

No more in soldier fashion will he greet
With lifted hand the gazer in the street.
O friends, our chief state-oracle is mute :
Mourn for the man of long-enduring blood,
The statesman - warrior, moderate, reso-
lute,

Whole in himself, a common good.
Mourn for the man of amplest influence,
Yet clearest of ambitious crime,
Our greatest yet with least pretence,
Great in council and great in war,
Foremost captain of his time,
Rich in saving common-sense,

And the volleying cannon thunder his loss;

He knew their voices of old.
For many a time in many a clime
His captain's-ear has heard them boom
Bellowing victory, bellowing doom:
When he with those deep voices wrought,
Guarding realms and kings from shame;
With those deep voices our dead captain

A man of well-attemper'd frame.
O civic muse, to such a name,
To such a name for ages long,
To such a name,

Preserve a broad approach of fame,
And ever-echoing avenues of song.

VI.

Who is he that cometh, like an honour'd 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 muffled 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 gain'd a hundred fights,
Nor ever lost an English gun;
This is he that far away
Against the myriads of Assaye
Clash'd 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 labour'd 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,
Follow'd up in valley and glen

With blare of bugle, clamour 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!
Dash'd on every rocky square

Their surging charges foam'd themselves

away;

Last, the Prussian trumpet blew ;
Thro' the long-tormented air
Heaven flash'd 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 saviour 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 honour, honour, honour, honour to
him,

Eternal honour to his name.

VII.

A people's voice! we are a people yet. Tho' all men else their nobler 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,

220

But wink no more in slothful overtrust.
Remember him who led your hosts;
He bad you guard the sacred coasts.
Your cannons moulder on the seaward
wall;

His voice is silent in your council-hall
For ever; and whatever tempests lour
For ever 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 palter'd with Eternal God for power;
Who let the turbid streams of rumour 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;

Yea, let all good things await
Him who cares not to be great,
But as he saves or serves the state.
Not once or twice in our rough island-

story,

The path of duty was the way to glory :
He that walks it, only thirsting
For the right, and learns to deaden
Love of self, before his journey closes,
He shall find the stubborn thistle bursting
Into glossy purples, which outredden
All voluptuous garden-roses.

Not once or twice in our fair island-story,
The path of duty was the way to glory :
He, that ever following her commands,
On with toil of heart and knees and hands,
Thro' the long gorge to the far light has

won

His path upward, and prevail'd,
Shall find the toppling crags of Duty

scaled

Are close upon the shining table-lands To which our God Himself is moon and

sun.

Such was he: his work is done.
But while the races of mankind endure,
Let his great example stand
Colossal, seen of every land,

And keep the soldier firm, the statesman pure:

Till in all lands and thro' all human story The path of duty be the way to glory: And let the land whose hearths he saved

from shame

For many and many an age proclaim
At civic revel and pomp and game,
And when the long - illumined cities
flame,

Their ever-loyal iron leader's fame,