26 MARCH 1859, Page 14

TO POE1tIO AND HIS FELLOW-PATRIOTS.

0 noble souls, freed from the foulest spite That ever tyrannous and heartless fool Wreak'd on the worth that shamed his worthless rule, Linking your very bodies, day and night, With lower souls, in hopes your patient might Would droop despairing, as by Stygian pool ; (But you, oh you, masters in sorrow's school, Lifted the heart-touch'd lowness to your height) ;—

Oh resting now, where men can trust a throne, _ J

And served with such deep honour as endures Beyond all gauds (for in comparison With years of conquest over woes like yours, Glory, the Frenchman's feather, may be spurn'd) Live long the new-found life your great good hearts have earn'd.

LEIGH HUNT.