I breathed within that Abbey’s bound, It was a hallowed spot; The walls they seemed alive with sound, And hues the sky hath not. Good lord, my brain was spinning round, And methought, I knew not what. Eleven o’clock, eleven o’clock! My spirit feels a passing shock; Eleven o’clock――you heard the chime; Oh! many shall see the King this time. My very heart it seems to sing, And it leapeth up to see the King. What flattering music meets his ear, What loving voices greet! He sitteth now in presence here, With a nation at his feet. And (joy for him!) he’s not alone; Yon lady, look――_she_ shares his throne. The bishops, a right reverend race, Bring first, then take away, Rare things of gold that through the place Dispense a brighter day They robe him next with a robe of grace, The supertunica. And many a ring, and staff, and sword, He takes from many a mumbling lord, Enwrapt in richest silk and fur; On head and hand the oil is poured, And now they touch his foot with a spur, And crown that Ancyente Marynere! Soon about the Queen they’ll stir, Crowning William, crowning her. To kiss the cheek, with aspects meek Now on their knees the bishops fall; Oh! every peer must kiss the cheek, But great Lord Brougham the last of all. Oh! yes, Lord Harry he came the last, But the roof it rang as on he passed; The people laugh, and the peers they stare For they never had thought to have seen him there. I guess ’twas curious there to see A baron so oddly clad as he, Ludicrous exceedingly. ――――:o:―――― SONNETS ON THE CORONATION. By a Lyrist from the Lakes. (_William Wordsworth._) [Our Lyrist of the Lakes must be figured as an “old man eloquent” in all that can interest and elevate our nature. He should be somewhat tall, and somewhat drooping, with a head that scarcely seems to know that there is a halo round it, an expression of quiet dignity and simplicity of character, an unaffected familiarity of demeanour, and a suit of _brown_, properly fitted for one whose studies are sometimes of the same complexion. The white doe, the “solitary doe” of Rylstone, might be playing in the back-ground, and it would not be amiss to have a glimpse of the other solitary and immortal quadruped, that Peter Bell encountered in the forest.] NATIONAL HAPPINESS.