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47

VERSES ON THE CORONATION OF KING GEORGE THE FIFTH

1

Once Alexander plunged into the East,
And at Arbela flood o'erthrew the Mede.
What of that Empire now, but lonely stone?

2

The Roman his discovered world amassed,
And high on his seven hills empurpled sat;
Yet rotting from within his rule decayed.

3

Others have builded since; and strongest he,
Who the old map of Europe folded up;
Yet printless on the sands of time his feet.
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4

Now all those tumbled cities are re-risen,
The grass re-blows o'er all his battle-fields,
And verdure greener from that crimson blood.

5

A name! a haunting face! and there an end!
An arch triumphal, and a golden tomb!
The earth no single scar from him retains.

6

But thou, O King, all hail! Thou enterest
Into a kingdom dearer bought than these;
More surely stablished with a grander toil.

7

Remember those dead architects who still
From many a grave memorial o'er the world,
Lend hands of fame, though centuries asleep!
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8

How many sailors plunged beneath the ooze
Still lift constructing hands up from the sea,
And whelmed in weed and coral, yet sustain!

9

Remember all the blood, and all the cries,
That slowly have thy Empire soldered sure,
Faces of women waiting without hope!

10

What! Is that sceptre heavy to thy hand?
Or heavy is that orb upon thy brows?
Think to what memories that weight is owed!

11

Since first in furious ferment there was wrought,
On Senlac hill that mighty blend of blood,
That fortunate world-vintage of the West.
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12

Remember those French fields; the Armada's pride
Scattered, and tossed upon the Irish shore;
Then Cromwell, master first of the cold seas!

13

Remember Plassy, and the lonely Clive;
All India with our English graves inscribed,
And the huge Orient by a remnant held!

14

Remember the ascended river, and height
Stormed, and the dubious battle when Wolfe fell,
But reeling heard the cry, “They run, they run!”

15

Remember the grand clash of Trafalgar,
When dying Nelson smelt the rising wind,
And “Anchor Hardy, anchor Hardy!” moaned!
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16

With these forget not half thy kingdom is
The song of Milton soaring to the sun,
Of deeper Shakspeare, wise from human pain.

17

And later music thine; but latest his,
Heavy with English sweet from Roman flowers,
A lonely voice; a lover of thy throne.

18

Verse thou inheritest not less than deeds;
A lord of rhythm as of rolling seas,
Of foam eternal, yet of loveliest words.

19

In that dim minster, when thy brows are crowned,
Against the pictured panes our dead shall stand,
And that which seems most vacant, most be thronged.
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20

What anthems with their silence shall compare?
What voices shall their stillness interrupt,
Or mortal music their immortal hush?

21

Then grasp that heavy sceptre in one hand,
And in the other hold that heavy orb,
And all those memories be half thy might.
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