II.

The champ of the steeds on the silver bit, As they whirl the rich man's carriage by; The beggar's whine as he looks at it,-- But it goes too fast for charity; The trail on the street of the poor man's broom, That the lady who walks to her palace-home, On her silken skirt may catch no dust; The tread of the business-men who must Count their per-cents by the paces they take; The cry of the babe unheard of its mother Though it lie on her breast, while she thinks of the other Laid yesterday where it will not wake; The flower-girl's prayer to buy roses and pinks Held out in the smoke, like stars by day; The gin-door's oath that hollowly chinks Guilt upon grief and wrong upon hate; The cabman's cry to get out of the way; The dustman's call down the area-grate; The young maid's jest, and the old wife's scold, The haggling talk of the boys at a stall, The fight in the street which is backed for gold, The plea of the lawyers in Westminster Hall; The drop on the stones of the blind man's staff As he trades in his own grief's sacredness, The brothel shriek, and the Newgate laugh, The hum upon 'Change, and the organ's grinding, (The grinder's face being nevertheless Dry and vacant of even woe While the children's hearts are leaping so At the merry music's winding;) The black-plumed funeral's creeping train, Long and slow (and yet they will go As fast as Life though it hurry and strain!) Creeping the populous houses through And nodding their plumes at either side,-- At many a house, where an infant, new To the sunshiny world, has just struggled and cried,-- At many a house where sitteth a bride Trying to-morrow's coronals With a scarlet blush to-day: Slowly creep the funerals, As none should hear the noise and say "The living, the living must go away To multiply the dead." Hark! an upward shout is sent, In grave strong joy from tower to steeple The bells ring out, The trumpets sound, the people shout, The young queen goes to her Parliament. She turneth round her large blue eyes More bright with childish memories Than royal hopes, upon the people; On either side she bows her head Lowly, with a queenly grace And smile most trusting-innocent, As if she smiled upon her mother; The thousands press before each other To bless her to her face; And booms the deep majestic voice Through trump and drum,--"May the queen rejoice In the people's liberties!"