THE BURIAL.

Why rings the knell of the funeral bell from a hundred village shrines?

Through broad Fingall, where hasten all those long and ordered lines?

With tear and sigh they're passing by — the matron and the maid —

Has a hero died — is a nation's pride in that cold coffin laid?

With frown and curse, behind the hearse, dark men go tramping on —

Has a tyrant died, that they cannot hide their wrath till the rites are done?