Caen

Lowly upon his bier
The royal conqueror lay;
Baron and chief stood near,
Silent in war array.
Down the long minster's aisle
Crowds mutely gazing streamed;
Altar and tomb the while
Through mists of incense gleamed.

And, by the torches' blaze.
The stately priest had said
High words of power and praise
To the glory of the dead.
They lowered him, with the sound
Of requiems, to repose;
When from the throngs around
A solemn voice arose:—

"Forbear! forbear!" it cried;
"In the holiest Name, forbear 1
He hatli conquered regions wide.
But he shall not slumber there!
By the violated hearth
Which made way for you 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!
Will my sire's unransomed field.
O'er which your censers wave.
To the buried spoiler yield
Soft slumber in the grave?

"The tree before him fell
Which we cherished many a year,
But its deep root yet shall swell
And heave against his bier.
The land that I have tilled
Hath yet its brooding breast
With my home's white ashes filled.
And it shall not give him rest.

"Here each proud columns' bed
Hath been wet by weeping eyes, —
Hence! and bestow your dead
Where no wrong against him cries!"
Shame glowed 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,—
O, who shall number those
That were but heard in heaven?