258 ODE ON THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON. He, that ever following her commands, won His path upward, and prevail'd, Whom we see not we revere; Shall find the toppling crags of Duty As befits a solemn fane: scaled Are close upon the shining table-lands sun. Such was he his work is done. But while the races of mankind endure, We revere, and while we hear Uplifted high in heart and hope are we, 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 For many and many an age proclaim And break the shore, and evermore Round us, each with different powers, With honour, honour, honour, honour to Hush, the Dead March wails in the 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! Lay your earthly fancies down, 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, 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 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 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 III. The world-compelling plan was thine, - Of wonder, out of West and East, Brought from under every star, 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! Melt into stars for the land's desire! Roar as the sea when he welcomes the land, And let the fair white-wing'd peacemaker 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, sea O joy to the people and joy to the throne, A WELCOME TO ALEXANDRA. Come to us, love us and make us your 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, 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 Here also, Marie, shall thy name be blest, 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, 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 ! |