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258 ODE ON THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.

He, that ever following her commands,
On with toil of heart and knees and hands,
Thro' the long gorge to the far light has

won

His path upward, and prevail'd,

Whom we see not we revere;
We revere, and we refrain
From talk of battles loud and vain,
And brawling memories all too free
For such a wise humility

Shall find the toppling crags of Duty As befits a solemn fane:

scaled

Are close upon the shining table-lands
To which our God Himself is moon and

sun.

Such was he his work is done.

But while the races of mankind endure,
Let his great example stand
Colossal, seen of every land,

We revere, and while we hear
The tides of Music's golden sea
Setting toward eternity,

Uplifted high in heart and hope are we,
Until we doubt not that for one so true
There must be other nobler work to do
Than when he fought at Waterloo,
And Victor he must ever be.

And keep the soldier firm, the statesman For tho' the Giant Ages heave the hill

pure:

Till in all lands and thro' all human story
The path of duty be the way to glory :
And let the land whose hearths he saved
from shame

For many and many an age proclaim
At civic revel and pomp and game,
And when the long-illumined cities flame,
Their ever-loyal iron leader's fame,

And break the shore, and evermore
Make and break, and work their will;
Tho' world on world in myriad myriads
roll

Round us, each with different powers,
And other forms of life than ours,
What know we greater than the soul?
On God and Godlike men we build our
trust.

With honour, honour, honour, honour to Hush, the Dead March wails in the

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Far on in summers that we shall not see: He is gone who seem'd so great.

Peace, it is a day of pain

For one about whose patriarchal knee

Late the little children clung:

O peace, it is a day of pain

Gone; but nothing can bereave him

Of the force he made his own

Being here, and we believe him

Something far advanced in State,

For one, upon whose hand and heart and And that he wears a truer crown

brain

Than any wreath that man can weave him.

Once the weight and fate of Europe hung. Speak no more of his renown,

Ours the pain, be his the gain!
More than is of man's degree
Must be with us, watching here
At this, our great solemnity.

Lay your earthly fancies down,
And in the vast cathedral leave him.
God accept him, Christ receive him.

1852.

THE THIRD OF FERRUARY,

1852.

Shall we fear him? our own we never fear'd.

From our first Charles by force we wrung our claims.

My Lords, we heard you speak : you told Prick'd by the Papal spur, we rear'd,

us all

That England's honest censure went too far;

That our free press should cease to brawl, Not sting the fiery Frenchman into war.

We flung the burthen of the second

James.

I say, we never feared! and as for these, We broke them on the land, we drove them on the seas.

It was our ancient privilege, my Lords,
To fling whate'er we felt, not fearing, into And you, my Lords, you make the people

words.

muse

In doubt if you be of our Barons' breedWe love not this French God, the child Were those your sires who fought at

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But the one voice in Europe: we must They knew the precious things they had speak;

to guard:

That if to-night our greatness were struck For us, we will not spare the tyrant one

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you be fearful, then must we be bold. Our Britain cannot salve a tyrant o'er. Better the waste Atlantic roll'd

On her and us and ours for evermore. What! have we fought for Freedom from our prime,

hard word.

Tho' niggard throats of Manchester may

bawl,

What England was, shall her true sons forget?

We are not cotton-spinners all,

But some love England and her honour

yet.

And these in our Thermopyle shall stand, At last to dodge and palter with a public And hold against the world this honour

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III.

The world-compelling plan was thine, -
And, lo! the long laborious miles
Of Palace; lo! the giant aisles,
Rich in model and design;
Harvest-tool and husbandry,
Loom and wheel and enginery,
Secrets of the sullen mine,
Steel and gold, and corn and wine,
Fabric rough, or fairy-fine,
Sunny tokens of the Line,
Polar marvels, and a feast

Of wonder, out of West and East,
And shapes and hues of Art divine!
All of beauty, all of use,
That one fair planet can produce,

Brought from under every star,
Blown from over every main,
And mixt, as life is mixt with pain,
The works of peace with works of war.

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Welcome her, thunders of fort and of fleet !

Welcome her, thundering cheer of the

street!

Welcome her, all things youthful and sweet,

Scatter the blossom under her feet! Break, happy land, into earlier flowers! Make music, O bird, in the new-budded bowers!

Blazon your mottos of blessing and prayer!

Welcome her, welcome her, all that is ours!

Warble, O bugle, and trumpet, blare!
Flags, flutter out upon turrets and towers!
Flames, on the windy headland flare!
Utter your jubilee, steeple and spire!
Clash, ye bells, in the merry March air!
Flash, ye cities, in rivers of fire!
Rush to the roof, sudden rocket, and
higher

Melt into stars for the land's desire!
Roll and rejoice, jubilant voice,
Roll as a ground-swell dash'd on the
strand,

Roar as the sea when he welcomes the land,

And let the fair white-wing'd peacemaker
To happy havens under all the sky,
And mix the seasons and the golden hours;
Till each man find his own in all men's good, And welcome her, welcome the land's
And all men work in noble brotherhood,
Breaking their mailed fleets and armed

towers,

And ruling by obeying Nature's powers, And gathering all the fruits of earth and crown'd with all her flowers.

desire,

The sea-kings' daughter as happy as fair,
Blissful bride of a blissful heir,
Bride of the heir of the kings of the

sea

O joy to the people and joy to the throne,

A WELCOME TO ALEXANDRA. Come to us, love us and make us your

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IV.

Has given our Prince his own imperial And Love has led thee to the stranger land,

Flower,

Alexandrovna.

And welcome, Russian flower, a people's

pride,

To Britain, when her flowers begin to blow!

From love to love, from home to home

you go,

From mother unto mother, stately bride,
Marie Alexandrovna !

II.

The golden news along the steppes is

blown,

Where men are bold and strongly say

their say ;

See, empire upon empire smiles to-day, As thou with thy young lover hand in hand Alexandrovna !

So now thy fuller life is in the west, Whose hand at home was gracious to thy poor :

Thy name was blest within the narrow
door;

Here also, Marie, shall thy name be blest,
Marie Alexandrovna !

V.

And at thy name the Tartar tents are Shall fears and jealous hatreds flame again?

stirr'd;

Elburz and all the Caucasus have heard; And all the sultry palms of India known, Alexandrovna.

The voices of our universal sea

On capes of Afric as on cliffs of Kent,

Or at thy coming, Princess, everywhere,
The blue heaven break, and some

diviner air

Breathe thro' the world and change the hearts of men,

Alexandrovna?

The Maoris and that Isle of Continent, But hearts that change not, love that And loyal pines of Canada murmur thee, Marie Alexandrovna !

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