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?