 | Words by the Wayside |  |
102
A Welcome to the King of Italy
(November 17th, 1903).
Cometh Italy to England? O ye winds be debonair,
Lest ye shame our northern welcome as his galleys breast the blue!
In our heart is cloudless weather, be the firmament as fair!
Land to land laughs out a greeting, let the skies proclaim it too!
Let the winds and seas and skies proclaim it too!
Lest ye shame our northern welcome as his galleys breast the blue!
In our heart is cloudless weather, be the firmament as fair!
Land to land laughs out a greeting, let the skies proclaim it too!
Let the winds and seas and skies proclaim it too!
From a folk we never fought with, from the shores that are as home—
That as very home we sigh for, when the creeping sea-mists cling,
From a clime whose summits hide in heaven, whose feet are in the foam,
From a land of vine and olive, lake and torrent, comes the King!
Of the Garden of all Europe comes the King!
That as very home we sigh for, when the creeping sea-mists cling,
From a clime whose summits hide in heaven, whose feet are in the foam,
From a land of vine and olive, lake and torrent, comes the King!
Of the Garden of all Europe comes the King!
King, renewer, and upbuilder of a Nation! for behold
How to nobler heights of being than from whence her hopes were hurled
She arises, and to conquest more enduring than of old,
When Leviathan obeyed her, and she held a struggling world—
When her hook was in the nostrils of the world!
How to nobler heights of being than from whence her hopes were hurled
She arises, and to conquest more enduring than of old,
When Leviathan obeyed her, and she held a struggling world—
When her hook was in the nostrils of the world!
Lo! her lamps that light the ages—bards and heroes of the earth!
Numa, Cato, Africanus, Garibaldi—name on name—
Virgil, Dante, Galileo! Since her spirit sprang to birth—
Scattered chaos—what a kindling in the firmament of fame—
Stars that pale not in the firmament of fame!
Numa, Cato, Africanus, Garibaldi—name on name—
103
Scattered chaos—what a kindling in the firmament of fame—
Stars that pale not in the firmament of fame!
Princes, Paladins, and patriots, and the men who strove in stone,
Wept in marble, prayed in colours that have turned the world to tears—
Aspirations, benedictions, seraph-faces zone on zone
Circling upward, winged with rapture, to the Soul that fills the spheres—
To be mingled with the Soul that fills the spheres!
Wept in marble, prayed in colours that have turned the world to tears—
Aspirations, benedictions, seraph-faces zone on zone
Circling upward, winged with rapture, to the Soul that fills the spheres—
To be mingled with the Soul that fills the spheres!
Half the streams that slake the nations have from her boon bosom run:
Up then, England! and remembering that which flowed from her to thee—
Law and worship, art and glory—let us welcome the son's son
Of the King who freed his country to the country of the free—
From the country, to the country, of the free!
Up then, England! and remembering that which flowed from her to thee—
Law and worship, art and glory—let us welcome the son's son
Of the King who freed his country to the country of the free—
From the country, to the country, of the free!
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