have been smashed to atoms.

This is one of the stray plums of the trifle, what follows is a whisk of
the froth, written when we looked into Corunna, about a week after the
embarkation of the army:--

MONODY ON THE DEATH OF SIR JOHN MOORE.

Farewell, thou pillar of the war,
Warm--hearted soldier, Moore, farewell,
In honour's firmament a star,
As bright as ere in glory fell.

Deceived by weak or wicked men,
How gallantly thou stood'st at bay,
Like lion hunted to his den,
Let France tell, on that bloody day.

No boastful splendour round thy bier,
No blazon'd trophies o'er thy grave;
But thou had'st more, the soldier's tear,
The heart--warm offering of the brave.

On Lusitania's rock--girt coast,
All coffinless thy relics lie,
Where all but honour bright was lost,
Yet thy example shall not die.

Albeit no funeral knell was rung,
Nor o'er thy tomb in mournful wreath