The Sun.
London, England, 1852-12-25 00:00:00

8 5 2.

the apparition of that Boguey of our father B——

" 0 thwarted France, in thy worst hour
The scourge and curse of man,-
0 fell incarnate lust of power,
Thou baffled Corsican,—
Yell out his praise, whose trophied life
Was crowned by crushing you,
And sear'd your hydra-heads of strife
In branding Waterloo I "

There is a nervous povier in the last two lines
or verses—but why attempt to " fright the isle
from its propriety" by summoning up, again the
Corsican apparition As well dream of alarming
a sensible man• at mid-day with a scooped turnip
and a sheet, like the ghost in the country churchyard.
We don't understand how it happens that some
people can't for the life of them bespatter one man
with panegyric unless at the same time they are per-
mitted to throw the mud of abusive epithets and
petulant vituperations at another. Turning from this
flaw, however, to a beauty close by, we meet in
nearly the next stanza with this noble and thrilling
(because natural and unaffected) lamentation :
" Bewail, ye cliffs, that, white and hoar,
By castled Dover stand—
Alas ! that ye shall see no more
Our Nelson of the land !"
Enough has been said of, and extracted from, Mr.
Tupper's " Dirge" to attest that, if it adds not one
leaf of bay more to his coronal, it in no way withers
or depreciates the verdure of the garland won by
his " Proverbial Philosophy."

Elegiac Stanzas. Suggested by the Funeral of
Arthur Duke of Wellington. By H. J. Staples.
Pickering.
Unpretending as this effusion is in its character
—according to its title simply purporting to be a
few " Elegiac Stanzas"—it is, nevertheless, in its
feeling graceful, in its manner persuasive, and in
its tone elevated. Several passages are very admi-
rably expressed. Almost at the outset the author
exclaims, to our thinking finely—
" Hark ! to the tramp of steeds—the measured tread—
Grandeur's approach I to wait upon the Dead !"
Speaking of the Great Duke's most memorable
achievement, he continues in another part by ob-
serving that the Hero—

" Bade Anarchy's and Plunder's reign to cease,
And TVar's dread visage wear the smile of Peace."
Recalling the prolonged glories of that great career,
the writer apostrophises the shade of the departed
Chief thus exquisitely—
" When thy bright, glowing Autumn's sun had set,
Thy Summer splendours dug-teed round thee yet.
When Winter's snow upon thy brow was seen,
Spring's freshest dews still kept thy laurels green."
Without any assumption of superior excellence,
these " Elegiac Stanzas " reflect credit upon the
intellect and the sensibilities of Mr. Staples, who,
we observe, is in her Majesty's Ceylon Civil Ser-
vice, and has, therefore, not been inspired to any
momentary enthusiasm by mere professional predi-
lections. His words appear to us to have been
dictated simply by the ardour of a patriotic admi-
ration.

Mourn for the Mighty Dead.
Mackay.

13y Charles

A noble outburst of sorrow—deep, and true, and
strong in pathos—worthy of Charles Mackay, the
author, and of the subject—the Duke of Welling-
ton. Brief as it is, it is the best of all to our
thinking ; and, regarding it as such, we have re-
served any mention of it to the last, when we can
gratify ourselves and our readers by its quotation.
The words are set to music by Sir Henry Bishop,
and those who have rendered themselves familiar
with their solemn andaffectingmelod.y, are capable
of appreciating the truth, that they are such words
as should have resounded.. over the tomb of the
stoic warrior of Britain—such words as could alone
have fallen from the lips of one who is more now
than Barry Cornwall was in his day, one who is
incomparably the greatest English Lyrist of his
generation. As the most conclusive testimony that
our praise of this admirable dirge is in noway ex-
aggerated, we give it entire as follows—perfect in
its eloquent simplicity :

" Mourn for the mighty dead,
Mourn for the spirit fled,
Mourn for the lofty head
Low in the grave.
Tears such as nations weep
Hallow the hero's sleep ;
Calm be his rest, and deep,—
Arthur the brave !

Nobly his work was done—
England's most glorious son,
True-hearted Wellington,

Shield of our laws
Ever in peril's night
Heaven send such arm of might !
Guardian of truth and right—
Raised in their cause.

Dried be the tears that fall ;
Love bears the warrior's pall—
Fame shall his deeds recal—
Britain's right hand !
Bright shall his memory be !
Star of supremacy !
Banner of victory !
Pride of our land !"
Perhaps the first is the best of the three stanzas ;
and yet where all are good any implied exception
might not unjustly be regarded as invidious.