Poems; original and translated :: :: University of Virginia Library

My spirit scorns repose;
Big with a nation's joy my heart o'erflows,
And bids me speak my triumph to the air:
Hear me, ye winds; proclaim
To all of British name,
To join the choral song, the gladness share.

Our prayers are heard on high:
Victoria's race shall never die!
Roll, Father Thames, roll onward to the sea,
And tell the waves their destiny:
Subjects of our crown are they:
Bid them now to Britain's shore

Tides of gratulation pour:
With dance and music let them come,
Sparkling, light, and frolicsome:
Victoria's heir is born this day;
Her children's children still shall rule these isles:
Let earth and ocean wear their newest smiles!

Speed o'er the wave, ye winged messengers,
And bid all nations hail,
Where'er the British sail
Hath borne from home her roving mariners,
Bold hearts and true, an empire to subdue,
Or succour frail distress,
Or clear the wilderness,
Or open mighty worlds to Wisdom's view.

Awake from sleep, ye coursers of the deep!
Your colours unbind, and give to the wind!
All by the bay of dark Biscay
Speed ye along and never stay,
Carry the news of our joyful day
To the pillars twain, where in the main
The Sun-god dipp'd his car,
And Calpe's rock defies the shock
Of tempest and of war:
The gardens trim where the oranges bloom,
And the honey-bee loves their rich perfume;

The isles go seek by the blind old Greek
In ancient story sung;
The rugged strand of Ithaca's land,
To which the Wanderer clung;
Zacynthian fruity fields, and uplands blue
Of olive-clad Corfu:
Linger not, but hasten on
To vales of piny Lebanon;
There shall ye say,
A son to her is born, whose thunderstroke
On Acre's walls cast wild dismay
And Egypt's empire shook.
Ye Syrian maids, your garlands twine,
Rejoice, ye girls of Palestine!
Ye may sit at ease in your rosy bowers,
And chant your lays at evening hours:
To Sion's holy mount and Siloa's brook
The pilgrim now may come with hymn and prayer,
Unscathed by Copt and Mameluke,
Secure of Paynim snare.

Away, away, without delay;
Tis Britain doth command:
Steer for Afric's parch'd domain,
For Sierra's gleaming sand,
Whose dusky children bless the hand
That broke th' oppressor's chain.

Soon shall ye reach the Golden beach,
And headland clad with vines,
Whose peaceful key of the southern sea
Britannia ne'er resigns;
Onward thence o'er the main immense,
Where earth's great round with a zone is bound,
Where the windless prow
Is hurried along by the ocean's flow,
To the spicy gales that fill your sails
From groves of myrrh and frankincense,
To the sultry tide where the dolphins glide
Gamboling oft on the amber spray,
And mariners ever devoutly pray
For the albatross their masts to cross
And speed their homeward way.

Bear the news afar
To rugged coasts of Malabar,
To Comorin's peak and rich Golconda's vale;
Go tell the tale
In palmy groves, where India's patient son
Weaves the soft web, and, when his work is done,
Hies from the noontide beam
To rest him in the shade
By overarching banyan made;
On Jumna's stream,
Where the hunters ride in their towers of pride

And panting tigers thro' the jungle flee;
On Ganges' fertile flood, and snow-clad Himmaleh.

The lonely shepherd on Australian hills
Tends the fair flock, and sings the rural lay;
His thoughts are far away
On Lomond's lake, or where a thousand rills
Pour down the side of mossy Cruachan:
Soft is the air, and cloudless heaven above;
Birds with gay plume the tranquil breezes fan,
And flowers of radiant beauty light the grove:
Him nor the cloudless heaven nor breezes mild
Nor gaudy-feather'd birds so well can please,
As the bare heath and mountains, where a child
He wander'd free and wild,
Full of young hopes and fantasies,
And when the eagle scream'd,
To him more musical it seem'd
Than sweetest song of nightingale;
And storms that o'er the mountain roll'd,
And mists that tipt with gold
Rose steaming from the vale,
To him more glorious to behold
Than skies of brightest azure were.
He too of Britain's joy shall hear:
With quicker heat his veins will beat,
When the glad tidings come,

And tears will start from his deepest heart,
To think of his native home:
For he knows full well, his heart can tell,
There shall be song and mirth on Scottish ground,
And pipe and flute shall not be mute,
And many a foot in ectasy shall bound.
O merry Scottish cheer!
O bonny kinsmen dear!
By exiles most beloved, tho' loved in vain!
O silver-whispering lakes!
O heather-blooming brakes!
There happy once was he; there would he be again!

On Canton's wave our floating batteries lie,
And hoist their flags of victory:
The shore is yet with ruin strew'd,
The city wrapt in gloom,
Slaves who their own destruction woo'd
In silence wait their doom;
The Briton from deck surveys the wreck
Of the stormy battle-day,
His fury quench'd, like a lion drench'd
With blood of his mangled prey.
Mild is his soul, save when at glory's call
He comes resolved to conquer or to fall;
Remorseful pity then away he throws,
While all his country in his bosom glows;

He springs to the fray, to strike, to slay,
No power can resist him then,
Like a demon of strife, he mows down life,
And tramples on groaning men.
Him shall calmer thoughts employ,
Holier transports now,
Tidings of a nation's joy
Lighting up his brow:
Leaps not his heart at the happy news?
Methinks I can see the jovial crews;
I can hear the swell of their loud hurrah,
As they shout Long live Victoria!
What panic shall seize the pale Chinese!
Methinks I can see the Mandarin,
How he starts in his silken tent
At the sound of English merriment,
As if he had heard the battle-din.
Woe to ye, children of Cathay!
Where is all your vast array?
Where the pride of Tartar chivalry?
Invincible hosts are on your coasts;
Your feeble squadrons flee:
Not with the leopard strives the tender hind;
Birds of venturous flight
The sovereign eagle's might,
When struggling in his claw, too late shall find.
Haste from the field, and prompt submission yield;
With suppliant voice, not arms, accost the foe;

For just as brave is he, to anger slow;
The meek he spares, but lays the haughty low.

Hush'd be all ruder sound;
Ye winds, your murmur cease:
A vision bright appears in sight,
The meek-eyed angel, Peace,
With love and mercy crown'd:
Upon th' Atlantic main she waves her dewy wings,
Her rainbow locks in air streaming, while thus she sings:

Joy to the earth! a princely Son
Hath blest the shores of Albion!
Peace and joy to all she sends,
Gracious arm to all extends;
Happy they whom she befriends.
Mild is her empire, just her reign:
She forges not a ruthless chain,
In vassalage the brave to keep,
And make his noble spirit weep;
She doth not arm the spoiler's hand;
She doth not send a flaming brand
To fright the peaceful, wound the just,
Or lay their cities in the dust;
She never strikes, till strike she must;
Then, at the word, right faithfully
Her ministers of vengeance fly,

Swift as the lightning bolts that clear
A dark oppressive atmosphere.
Countless on their watery way
Bound her vessels light and gay;
Light as clouds that sail at e'en
Earth and silver moon between;
Gay as the larks that scorn
To rest on summer's morn.
See how they dance o'er the broad expanse,
Ever careering, never fearing;
Albion o'er the wave appearing
Calm and high, her sceptre shows;
Free and safe the wanderer goes;
They that rove to vex the seas,
Outrage foul and treacheries,
Vanish hence, nor dare, I ween,
To meet the wrath of the Ocean Queen.

Children of Britain, wheresoe'er ye dwell;
In lone Guiana's sounding woods,
Or by the torrent floods,
That in thunder leap down Niagara's steep,
As if from heaven they fell:
Whether wrapt in furry hide
Ye chariot o'er the snowpath wide
To meet the blasts of Labrador;
Or whether on the heaving breast
Of Lawrence, breezy gulf, ye rest
The merry dashing oar,

Upon the spires to gaze
That shed their silver blaze
On Abraham's height, which England's champion clomb
To win a deathless conquest and a tomb:
Ye who in tropic isles abide
The summer's torrid glare,
Where earthquakes rend the solid mountain-side,
Where the harvest in heaps a hurricane sweeps,
Or fever-damp from rain and swamp
Infects the putrid air:
Ye who on Winter's icy ground
Pursue the grisly bear,
Or huge Leviathan with steely wound,
Oft as he rises thro' the bleeding surge,
To flight and madness urge:
Ye who in Arctic regions frore
With storms eternal to the farthest bound
Of Nature pierce, her mysteries to explore:

Children of Britain, wheresoe'er ye roam,
Think of your native land, your mother home!
For she shall be to you
A mother fond and true;
Each gale that blows on balmy wing
The bounties of her love shall bring.
The name of England is a star
Your duteous path to cheer,
On watery wastes, on fields of war,

In all your wanderings drear:
Thro' the world's vast length 'tis honour, strength;
A spell to assuage the tyrant's rage,
The savage to control,
To arm with might the freeman's right,
And thrill the patriot's soul.
With English birth and England's worth
What titles can compare?
Such wealth endures; it all is yours,
To boast, to feel, to share;
Her glorious hopes, her goodly seed
On Time's maturing bosom cast,
Her chronicles of thought and deed,
The memory of her mighty past.
Sons of one soil, tho' space may sever,
Yet kindred love unites for ever:
As fairy harps each other greet
With silver tones, that whining stray
Till one into another play;
Thus mutual aspirations meet,
And patriots waft o'er land and sea
The spirit of their loyalty.
Unblest is he, that cold and stern
For distant land ne'er heaved a sigh,
Whose hopes and wishes ne'er return
To where a father's ashes lie.
And what be they, who dare betray
Their fealty and faith,

Who e'er could stand with sword in hand
To do their country scath?
Heirs of misrule, thro' sin and darkness borne,
While phantoms they pursue,
Themselves forsaken, outcast and forlorn,
Their madness they shall rue.

The island throne amid the tempests rear'd
Shall be your guardian shrine,
Where still shall sit a Prince revered
Of ancient Saxon line.
Glad homage pay to his sceptred sway;
For in his behest ye shall all be blest.
Your hardy race from place to place,
In many a distant clime,
Shall be seeking abodes,
Traversing pathless roads,
In the east, in the west,
Like birds on their quest of a home of rest;
From whom, far scatter'd in revolving time,
A fruitful seed shall rise,
And lift Britannia's glory to the skies.
Victoria's heir shall view them from his throne,
And claim increasing millions for his own:
From side to side of his kingdom wide
His wakeful eye shall range,
His princely love, where'er they rove,
No distance shall estrange.

Prerogative of bliss,
True royalty is this;
To feel how sacred is a people's charge,
Imperial care with empire to enlarge,
A nation's hopeful destinies to guide,
For weal of coming ages to provide;
On far and near, on great and small
With equal light and warmth to shine,
Of wisdom bounteous and benign
An omnipresence felt by all.
Thus at the sun's command the planets roll:
He of that radiant universe the soul,
Abiding in his majesty supreme,
Creation's law proclaims; the tuneful theme
Each planet echoing as it whirls along,
Responsive to his mighty thunder-song,
The fountain of their joy they circle round,
And thro' eternal space their harmonies resound.