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With honour, honour, honour, honour

to him, Eternal honour to his name.

VII.

Round affrighted Lisbon drew
The treble works, the vast designs
Of his labour'd rampart-lines,
Where he greatly stood at bay,
Whence he issued forth anew,
And ever great and greater grew,
Beating from the wasted vines
Back to France her banded swarms,
Back to France with countless blows,
Till o'er the hills her eagles flew
Beyond the Pyrenean pines,
Follow'd up in valley and glen
With blare of bugle, clamour of men,
Roll of cannon and clash of arms,
And England pouring on her foes.
Such a war had such a close.
Again their ravening eagle rose
In anger, wheeld on Europe-shadowing

wings,
And barking for the thrones of kings;
Till one that sought but Duty's iron
On that loud sabbath shook the spoiler

down; A day of onsets of despair! Dash'd on every rocky square Their surging charges foam'd themselves

away; Last, the Prussian trumpet blew; Thro' the long-tormented air Heaven flash'd a sudden jubilant ray, And down we swept and charged and

overthrew. So great a soldier taught us there, What long-enduring hearts could do In that world-earthquake, Waterloo ! Mighty Seaman, tender and true, And pure as he from taint of craven guile, O saviour of the silver-coasted isle, O shaker of the Baltic and the Nile, If aught of things that here befall Touch a spirit among things divine, If love of country move thee there at all, Be glad, because his bones are laid by

thine! And thro' the centuries let a people's

voice In full acclaim, A people's voice, The proof and echo of all human fame, A people's voice, when they rejoice At civic revel and pomp and game, Attest their great commander's claim

A people's voice! we are a people yet. Tho' all men else their nobler dreams

forget, Confused by brainless mobs and lawless

Powers; Thank Him who isled us here, and

roughly set His Briton in blown seas and storming

showers, We have a voice, with which to pay the

debt Of boundless love and reverence and

regret To those great men who fought, and

kept it ours. And keep it ours, O God, from brute

control; O Statesmen, guard us, guard the eye,

the soul Of Europe, keep our noble England

whole, And save the one true seed of freedom

crown

SOwn

Betwixt a people and their ancient

throne, That sober freedom out of which there

springs Our loyal passion for our temperate

kings; For, saving that, ye help to save man

kind Till public wrong be crumbled into dust, And drill the raw world for the march

of mind, Till crowds at length be sane and crowns

be just. But wink no more in slothful overtrust. Remember him who led your hosts; He bade you guard the sacred coasts. Your cannons moulder on the seaward

wall; His voice is silent in your council-hall For ever; and whatever tempests lour For ever silent; even if they broke In thunder, silent; yet remember all He spoke among you, and the Man who

spoke;

Who never sold the truth to serve the

hour, Nor palter'd with Eternal God for power; Who let the turbid streams of rumour

flow Thro' either babbling world of high and

low; Whose life was work, whose language

rife With rugged maxims hewn from life; Who never spoke against a foe; Whose eighty winters freeze with one

rebuke All great self-seekers trampling on the

right: Truth-teller was our England's Alfred

named;
Truth-lover was our English Duke;
Whatever record leap to light
He never shall be shamed.

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, And keep the soldier firm, the statesman

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, With honour, honour, honour, honour to

him, Eternal honour to his name.

VIII.

IX

Lo, the leader in these glorious wars
Now to glorious burial slowly borne,
Follow'd by the brave of other lands,
He, on whom from both her open hands
Lavish Honour shower'd all her stars,
And affluent Fortune emptied all her

horn.
Yea, let all good things await
Him who cares not to be great,
But as he saves or serves the state.
Not once or twice in our rough island-

story, The path of duty was the way to glory: He that walks it, only thirsting For the right, and learns to deaden Love of self, before his journey closes, He shall find the stubborn thistle burst

ing Into glossy purples, which outredden All voluptuous garden-roses. Not once or twice in our fair island-story, The path of duty was the way to glory: He, that ever following her commands, On with toil of heart and knees and

hands, Thro' the long gorge to the far light has

Peace, his triumph will be sung
By some yet unmoulded tongue
Far on in summers that we shall not see :
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
For one, upon whose hand and heart and

brain
Once the weight and fate of Europe hung.
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.
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
As befits a solemn fane:
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.
For tho' the Giant Ages heave the hill

won

His path upward, and prevail'd,
Shall find the toppling crags of Duty

scaled

It might be safe our censures to with

draw; And yet, my Lords, not well : there is a

higher law,

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. Hush, the Dead March wails in the peo

ple's ears: The dark crowd moves, and there are

sobs and tears : The black earth yawns: the mortal

disappears;
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust;
He is gone who seem'd so great. -
Gone; but nothing can bereave him
Of the force he made his own
Being here, and we believe him
Something far advanced in State,
And that he wears a truer crown
Than any wreath that man can weave

him.
Speak no more of his renown,
Lay your earthly fancies down,
And in the vast cathedral leave him,
God accept him, Christ receive him.

1852.

As long as we remain, we must speak

free, Tho' all the storm of Europe on us

break; No little German state are we, But the one voice in Europe : we must

speak; That if to-night our greatness were struck

dead, There might be left some record of the

things we said.

If 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 ever

more. What! have we fought for Freedom from

our prime, At last to dodge and palter with a public

crime?

THE THIRD OF FEBRUARY,

1852. My Lords, we heard you speak: you told

Shall we fear him? our own we never

fear'd. From our first Charles by force we

wrung our claims. Prick’d by the Papal spur, we rear'd, We flui 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.

us all

That England's honest censure went

too far; That our free press should cease to

brawl, Not sting the fiery Frenchman into

And you, my Lords, you make the people

muse

war.

It was our ancient privilege, my Lords, To fling whate'er we felt, not fearing, into

words.

In doubt if you be of our Barons' breed Were those your sires who fought at

Lewes? Is this the manly strain of Runnymede ? O fall'n nobility, that, overawed, Would lisp in honey'd whispers of this

monstrous fraud !

We love not this French God, the child

We feel, at least, that silence here were

of Hell, Wild War, who breaks the converse of

the wise; But though we love kind Peace so well, We dare not ev'n by silence sanction

lies.

sin, Not ours the fault if we have feeble

hosts

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Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them

Volley'd and thunder'd; Storm'd at with shot and shell, Boldly they rode and well,

UPLIFT a thousand voices full and sweet, In this wide hall with earth's invention

stored, And praise the invisible universa:

Lord, Who lets once more in peace the nations 218

meet,

Where Science, Art, and Labour have

outpour'd Their myriad horns of plenty at our feet.

And ruling by obeying Nature's powers, And gathering all the fruits of earth and

crown'd with all her flowers.

II.

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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-hine,
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.

A WELCOME TO ALEXANDRA.

of MARCH 7, 4863. www SEA-KINGS' daughter from over the sea,

Alexandra! Saxon and Norman and Dane are we, But all of us Danes in our welcome of thee,

Alexandra! 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 mottoes 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 Aare! 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 welcome her, welcome the land's

desire, The sea-kings' daughter as happy as fair, Blissful bride of a blissful heir, Bride of the heir of the kings of the O joy to the people and joy to the throne, Come to us, love us and make us your

IV.

Is the goal so far away?
Far, how far no tongue can say,
Let us dream our dream to-day.

V.

sea

O ye, the wise who think, the wise who

reign, From growing commerce loose her latest

chain, And let the fair white-wing'd peacemaker

fly 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 all men work in noble brotherhood, Breaking their mailed fleets and armed

towers,

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