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19
To Alfred, Lord Tennyson.
JANUARY 18TH, 1884.
New Lord of England, but old lord of song,
Voice to the realm, in council of our peers
Long present, peerless, for these many years
Thy muse in her nobility was strong
To sit high-throned above earth's common throng,
Thy helm such laurels as a poet wears,
Thy sword a pen that knew not any fears,
Weapon for lordly right against the wrong.
Voice to the realm, in council of our peers
Long present, peerless, for these many years
Thy muse in her nobility was strong
To sit high-throned above earth's common throng,
Thy helm such laurels as a poet wears,
Thy sword a pen that knew not any fears,
Weapon for lordly right against the wrong.
And if no children's children in thy hall,
Pointing to broken lance and battered shield,
Shall say, “These arms the first great Baron wore!”
Thy verse, that fired our deeds by flood and field,
That gave us back the chivalry of yore,
Will sound like clarions on our country's wall.
Pointing to broken lance and battered shield,
Shall say, “These arms the first great Baron wore!”
Thy verse, that fired our deeds by flood and field,
That gave us back the chivalry of yore,
Will sound like clarions on our country's wall.
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