 | Words by the Wayside |  |
105
Scotland's Greeting to King Edward VII., 1903
Not crownèd head, or sceptred hand alone,
Or empire bounded by the seas and skies,
Demands the homage which, to-day thine own,
From Scotland's heart doth myriad-voiced arise.
Or empire bounded by the seas and skies,
Demands the homage which, to-day thine own,
From Scotland's heart doth myriad-voiced arise.
Because thou hast passed the gates of suffering,
So Heaven upheld thee greatly to endure,
And 'gainst a mightier foe didst play the King
Than erst thy Sire assailed at Agincourt;
So Heaven upheld thee greatly to endure,
And 'gainst a mightier foe didst play the King
Than erst thy Sire assailed at Agincourt;
Because thine eyes into the eyes of death
For all his threatening front looked royally,
When Britain paled, and Europe held her breath,
And, save thine own, all thoughts were turned to thee—
For all his threatening front looked royally,
When Britain paled, and Europe held her breath,
And, save thine own, all thoughts were turned to thee—
To thee and her whose smile yet lights the land
As when she moved among the bridal throng,
Without whose wifely heart and woman's hand
Time scarce had turned our sorrow into song;—
As when she moved among the bridal throng,
Without whose wifely heart and woman's hand
Time scarce had turned our sorrow into song;—
Because thou art linked with Scotland from of old,
And lov'st her purple moors and mountains grey—
For these things' sake, O Sire, no heart so cold
But fain would greet thee on thy triumph-day;
And lov'st her purple moors and mountains grey—
For these things' sake, O Sire, no heart so cold
But fain would greet thee on thy triumph-day;
And this sea-broidered city, rock-enthroned,
Whose pulse throbs deeper than the throbbing drums,
Roars from her torrent-throats a thunder-toned
“Rejoice, for the King comes!”
Whose pulse throbs deeper than the throbbing drums,
Roars from her torrent-throats a thunder-toned
“Rejoice, for the King comes!”
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