New poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Not reared in courts, nor sunned by gold,
Nor at the feet of rank, they grew;
The proud New England,—not the Old,—
Baptized their opening buds with dew.

For I'm a daughter of the land,
Beyond the waves, of loud renown,
That vowed the vow, and raised the brand
Against thy royal grandsire's crown.

'T was her bold Eagle, deemed so rough,
That on the kingly Lion's ear
With fluttering pinions gave the cuff,
As from his paw he mounted clear.

Yet what, perhaps, inspirits me,
Is British blood, that warms my veins,—
That, here, I boast my ancestry
Of land o'er which Victoria reigns.

Not far from where thy palace towers,
The silent, long repose they take,
In sleep from which their dust and ours
The King of kings at once shall wake.

But, while the merit is not mine,
That I was born from Britain free,
The choice may not be counted thine,
If thy long sceptre sways not me.

We both were in the future when
My wild young country slipped her yoke;
Though my brave father struggled then,
Until his foreign bondage broke.

God's blessing on his reverend head!
It now the crown of glory wears,
By Israel's wisest monarch said
To be composed of hoary hairs.

And fourscore years and ten have given,
As near the tomb they bear him down,
An earnest lustre, opening heaven
Seems pouring on that silvery crown.

Yet still he lends his aged ear,
Reclining in his old arm-chair;
And loves of England's Queen to hear,—
Her princely spouse, and royal heir.

His heart will then, as 't were a fount
Of joy, o'er his pale features throw
Warm smiles, that to his forehead mount,
Like sunset-flush on Alpine snow.

With fervent spirit oft he prays,
That Heaven will give a light to shine,
To guide thee safe in all thy ways;
And bless the world in thee and thine.

For we have marked thy modest worth,
And had a watchful eye to thee,
Since thy bright name was sounded forth
As that of England's jubilee.

We've seen thee, meek and graceful, move
From careless childhood to the throne;
And there, before the world, approve
The earthly lord thy heart must own.

And, aided by the artist's skill,
We 've looked upon his form and thine,
Till fancy made the spirit fill
The shadow of the distant shrine.

We saw thee as a joyous bride,
And heard thee, 'midst that grand array,
With blest Prince Albert by thy side,
Pronounce that wondrous word, obey!

Methought that tie of mutual love,—
A tie in earthly courts so rare!—
The bright ones of the court above,
With sweet acclaim, recorded there.

And now appears thy precious gem,
Just touched by this world's air and light;
May hovering angels guard the stem,
And shield the bud from stain and blight!

Long mayst thou, Royal Rose, be bound
Upon thy kingdom's breast, and worn,
Diffusing sweets the world around,
Without a canker or a thorn!

May Death not pluck thee from her heart,
Till pale with frost of wintry years!
When thus thou must be loosed, depart
Bedewed with more than subjects' tears.

But now, the simple wreath I weave,
As redolent of love to thee,
Fair Queen, from o'er the deep receive,
A free-will offering of the free.