TO THE QUEEN. REVERED, beloved O you that hold Than arms, or power of brain, or birth Could give the warrior kings of old, Victoria, since your Royal grace To one of less desert allows This laurel greener from the brows Of him that utter'd nothing base; And should your greatness, and the care Then while a sweeter music wakes, And thro' wild March the throstle calls, Where all about your palace-walls The sun-lit almond-blossom shakes Take, Madam, this poor book of song; And leave us rulers of your blood May children of our children say, 'Her court was pure; her life serene; 'And statesmen at her council met Who knew the seasons when to take Occasion by the hand, and make The bounds of freedom wider yet 'By shaping some august decree, Which kept her throne unshaken still, Broad-based upon her people's will, And compass'd by the inviolate sea.' MARCH, 1851. |