They've seen him laid, all cold and low; They've flung the flat stone o'er his breast: And Summer's sun, and Winter's snow May never mar his dreamless rest! They've left him to his long decay; The banner waves above his head: Funereal is their rich array, But hark! how speak they of the dead. In his own hall, they've pledg'd to him 'Mid mirth, and minstrelsy divine; When, at the crystal goblet's brim Hath flash'd, the od'rous rosy wine; When viands from all lands afar Have grac'd the shining, sumptuous board, And _now_, they'd prove their vaunted star, The Cobbold, of his priceless hoard.[7] Hark! how they scandalize the _dead_! They spake not thus,--(their patron _here_) When they were proud to break his bread, To watch his faintest smile, and fear His latent frown; they did not speak Of vices, follies, meanness: _then_ A _crime_ in him, had been, "the freak Of youth," and "worthiest _he_, of men!" Off with those garbs of woe, _false_ friends! Those sadden'd visages, all feign'd! Or have ye yet, some golden ends To be, by Death's own liv'ries gain'd? _Ye_ mourn the dead forsooth! who say That which should shame the lordly hall His late ancestral home! Away! And dream that he hath _heard_ it all! [7] _Cobbold_, in mining countries, especially Cornwall, is the legendary guardian spirit of the mine, and severe master of its treasures. In Germany, Sweden, &c. the Cobbold may be traced under various modifications and titles. M.L.B. * * * * * The Cosmopolite. FOOD OF VARIOUS NATIONS. (_Conclusion_.)