 | Valete |  |
39
In the Church of St. George.
Guard well, St. George, our prince's memory,
High o'er the lustrous pines and sunny bowers,
When dawn climbs up the wave, or when the towers
Of ancient Cannes stand dark against the sea;
And let the weird self-healing olive tree,
Emblem of Life, beyond Death's harmful powers,
Grow round the house of Prayer, and orange flowers
With soft mimosa clouds for incense be.
High o'er the lustrous pines and sunny bowers,
When dawn climbs up the wave, or when the towers
Of ancient Cannes stand dark against the sea;
And let the weird self-healing olive tree,
Emblem of Life, beyond Death's harmful powers,
Grow round the house of Prayer, and orange flowers
With soft mimosa clouds for incense be.
And since his young life's rose, that knew no blame,
Fell here, tho' nursed upon our English shore,
Let the wild woodland rose that blooms for all
Gleam in the rich mosaic evermore,
And every evening's sun make roses fall
Upon the shrine that keeps his honoured name.
Fell here, tho' nursed upon our English shore,
Let the wild woodland rose that blooms for all
Gleam in the rich mosaic evermore,
And every evening's sun make roses fall
Upon the shrine that keeps his honoured name.
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