… “Britain,
Well named Great! Mistress of the seas, arb’tress
Of the earth; dread of the oppressor, refuge
Of th’ oppressed; bulwark of liberty, hav’n
Of hope, standard of justice.”——
“The forms of thy sons, in sculptured story,
Shall to distant times appear, triumph’s wreaths
Their brows entwining.”——
Our party completed their journey to town late the day before the internment was to take place. Arrangements previously made by Lord Arandale, had secured for them places in the cathedral. The pomps attendant on the funerals of officers of Lord Fitz-Ullin’s rank, being too well known to require description, we shall only slightly remark the impressions made on the mind of our heroine, who, for Edmund’s sake, was more than commonly interested in the solemn scene.
The procession having entered, the service commenced; the effect of the sublime parts of which, on the feelings of Julia, were such, together with the all-pervading grandeur of the music; the slow, but constant movement of the passing figures; and the still solemnity of all things else, that, yielding to the one absorbing sense of admiring awe, she seemed wrapped in a species of trance, while, from time to time, a single voice in the choir, separating itself from among the body of sound, would reach her ear, pronouncing, with peculiar distinctness, some impressive sentence.