Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 56, Number 349, November, 1844

(Once wont the lordlings thronging here to usher to the pomp)
To kindle our dull phantasies for yon triumphal show
That lights the roof so high aloof with the whiteness of its glow.

IV

Red William, couldst thou heave aside the marble of the tomb,
And look abroad from Winchester's song-consecrated gloom,[35 - Winchester, many years the residence of Joseph Warton, is so much associated with the recollections and noble poetry of his younger brother, as to warrant the expression in the text.]
A keener smart than Tyrrel's dart would pierce thy soul to see
In thy vast courts the Vileinage and peasants treading free.

V

Oh, righteous retribution! Ye Shades of those who here
Stood up in bonds before the slaves of sceptred fraud and fear!
Unswerving Somers! – More! – even thou, dark Somerset,[36 - The Protector-Duke, beheaded on Tower-Hill in the reign of his nephew, Edward VI. – "His attention to the poor during his Protectorship, and his opposition to the system of enclosures, had created him many friends among the lower classes, who hastened to witness his end, and yet flattered themselves with the hope of his reprieve." – Lingard.] who fell
In pride of place condignly, yet who loved the Commons well —

VI

And Ye who with undaunted hearts, immortal mitred Few!
For Truth's dear sake, the Tyrant foil'd to whom ye still were true —[37 - The trial of the seven bishops took place in the hall. Five out of their number – worthy of note upon every occasion – (the Archbishop, the Bishops of Ely, Bath and Wells, Chichester, and Petersborough,) refused the oaths to King William, and were deprived accordingly.]
Rejoice! Who knows what scatter'd thoughts of yours were buried seeds,
Slow-springing for th' oppress'd and poor, and ripen'd now to deeds?

VII

Ha, ha! 'twould make a death's-head laugh to see how the cross-bones —
The black judicial formula devised by bloody thrones —
The Axe's edge this way, now that, borne before murder'd men,
Who died for aiding their true Liege on mountain and in glen,[38 - The unfortunate Scottish lords were tried here 1745-6, as Horace Walpole abundantly testifies.]

VIII

Are swept like pois'nous spiders' webs for ever from the scene,
Where in their place come crowding now the mighty and the mean;
The Peer walks by the Peasant's side,[39 - More than one noble family, very creditably, have visited the works of art on free-admission days.] to see if grace and art
Can touch a bosom clad in frieze, can brighten Labour's heart.

IX

O! ye who doubt presumptuously that feeling, taste, are given
To all for culture, free as flowers, by an impartial heaven,
Look through this quiet rabble here – doth it not shame to-day
More polish'd mobs to whom we owe our annual squeeze in May?

X

Mark that poor Maiden, to her Sire interpreting the tale
There pictured of the Loved and Left,[40 - Maclise's fresco of The Knight.] until her cheek grows pale: —
Yon crippled Dwarf that sculptured Youth[41 - Youth at a stream, by J. H. Foley.] eyeing with glances dim,
Wondering will he, in higher worlds, be tall and straight like him; —

XI

How well they group with yonder pale but fire-eyed Artisan,
Who just has stopp'd to bid his boys those noble features scan
That sadden us for Wilkie! See! he tells them now the story
Of that once humble lad, and how he won his marble glory.

XII

Not all alone thou weep'st in stone, poor Lady, o'er thy Chief,[42 - Lough's Mourners, a group in marble.]
That huge-limb'd Porter, spell-struck there, stands sharer in thy grief.
Pert Cynic, scorn not his amaze; all savage as he seems,
What graceful shapes henceforward may whiten his heart in dreams!

XIII

A long adieu, dark Years! to you, of war on field and flood,
Battle afar, and mimic war at hone to train our blood —
The ruffian Ring – the goaded Bull – the Lottery's gates of sin —
The all to nurse the outward brute, and starve the soul within!

XIV

Here lives and breathes around us proof that those all-evil times
Are fled with their decrepit thoughts, their slaughter, and their crimes;
Long stood this Hall the type of all could Man's grim bonds increase —
Henceforth be it his Vestibule to hope, and light, and peace!

August, 1844

LINES ON THE LANDING OF HIS MAJESTY KING LOUIS PHILIPPE, TUESDAY, OCTOBER 8, 1844

By B. Simmons

I

Ho! Wardens of the Coast look forth
Upon your Channel seas —
The night is melting in the north,
There's tumult on the breeze;
Now sinking far, now rolling out
In proud triumphal swell,
That mingled burst of shot and shout
Your fathers knew so well,
What time to England's inmost plain
The beacon-fires proclaim'd
That, like descending hurricane,