The castle clock had tolled midnight: <br /> With mattock and with spade, <br /> And silent, by the torches' light, <br /> His corse in earth we laid. <br /> <br /> The coffin bore his name, that those <br /> Of other years might know, <br /> When earth its secrets should disclose, <br /> Whose bones were laid below. <br /> <br /> "Peace to the dead" no children sung, <br /> Slow pacing up the nave,-- <br /> No prayers were read, no knell was rung, <br /> As deep we dug his grave. <br /> <br /> We only heard the winter's wind, <br /> In many a sullen gust, <br /> As, o'er the open grave inclined, <br /> We murmured, "Dust to dust!" <br /> <br /> A moonbeam from the arch's height <br /> Streamed, as we placed the stone; <br /> The long aisles started into light, <br /> And all the windows shone. <br /> <br /> We thought we saw the banners then, <br /> That shook along the walls, <br /> Whilst the sad shades of mailèd men <br /> Were gazing on the stalls. <br /> <br /> 'Tis gone! again on tombs defaced <br /> Sits darkness more profound; <br /> And only by the torch we traced <br /> The shadows on the ground. <br /> <br /> And now the chilling, freezing air <br /> Without blew long and loud; <br /> Upon our knees we breathed one prayer, <br /> Where he slept in his shroud. <br /> <br /> We laid the broken marble floor,-- <br /> No name, no trace appears,-- <br /> And when we closed the sounding door, <br /> We thought of him with tears.<br /><br />William Lisle Bowles<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-the-funeral-of-charles-the-first/
