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Jubilate!

An Offering for 1887: From Martin F. Tupper

Tupper, Martin Farquhar (1810-1889)

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JUBILATE!

AN ODE

CORONATION SONNETS IN 1838.

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JUBILATE!

I.

He, that fifty years ago
From the central arch look'd down
On that wondrous scene below,
Where Victoria took her crown,
When the Abbey, glittering bright
With all gems of wealth and worth,
Shed its consecrated light
On the fairest flower of earth,—
He, that thus beheld his Queen
On the birthday of her power,
Throned in majesty serene
In young beauty's graceful hour,—
He, that then with heart on fire
Pour'd his prophecy sublime
From the patriot's thrilling lyre
Mingled with the Abbey's chime,—

He, unchanged from youth to age
This half century of time,
Lives to fling the champion gage
In this tournament of rhyme.

II.

For the poets of the land
All are eager to be seen
Celebrating, harp in hand,
This high triumph of their Queen,
Joying for the golden year
When,—the zenith of her days—
Lo,—her Jubilee is here,
Lo,—her fiftieth year of praise!

III.

Jubilate!—raise the song
Loud with triumph deep and strong;
Let the trumpet swift and sharp
Meet the soft and loving harp,—
All ye sons of Music come,
Viol, cornet, flute, and drum,—
Clanging steeples, cannons' roar,
Hurl the joy from shore to shore,—

Jubilate! shout the song,
Thrilling, joyous, loud and long,—
Jubilate! fling the sound
All the startled nations round,
Israel lost, and Israel found!

IV.

Yea: for Mother England stands
Girt with children in all lands,
And her tenfold Tribes are seen
Bringing homage to their Queen,
Thanking God for all the praise
That has blest her many days,
And has brought her to this hour,
Crown'd with love and throned in power.

V.

O, Thou hast specially been blest
Above the greatest and the best
Who have won life's noblest gain,
The golden wedding of a reign!
For, though England proudly brings
A leash of her heroic kings,—
Henry, Magna Charta's rock,
Edward, of the Crécy stock,

With good King George, the true till death,
And lion-like Elizabeth,—
And these in company with thee
Precede thy royal Jubilee,
Yet is Victoria first and best,
Above them all supremely blest.

VI.

Who can touch the thousand themes,
Memory pictures in her dreams,
Where the dead past lives again
In the glories of thy reign?
Fifty years of happy times
Spread and spreading through all climes,
Still progressive, striving still
To compass good and combat ill,
And from Beersheba to Dan
Blessing universal man!
Fifty years of gains untold,
Mines of gems and reefs of gold,
Victories won by sea and land,
Generous efforts nobly plann'd,
Wondrous works of toil and thought,
Deeds with grandest daring fraught,

Strange inventions,—time and space
Vanquish'd for the human race,
Nature's secrets all display'd,
And Science shown Religion's aid!
All these, and more, of wealth and worth
The harvest of our teeming earth,
Have grown to ripeness in these days,
Through a half century of praise.

VII.

Queen and Empress!—God alone,
Who fixed thy crown and built thy throne,
In this world of shadows now
Is higher, O my Queen, than thou,—
Servant to the King of Heaven!
Who to thee this gift has given,
Crowning with a Jubilee
Fifty years of love to thee:
Unto Him then yield the praise,
As thou wilt—and dost always!

VIII.

Queen and Empress! by God's grace
Chief of the Anglo-Saxon race,—

All round the world the morning gun
Salutes for thee each rising sun;
All round the world in every scene
Rises thy hymn, “God save the Queen;”
And thy broad standard floats unfurl'd
On every shore all round the world.

IX.

Victoria, Queen and Empress, hail!
If ever national prayers prevail
—And with Heaven's help they never fail,—
Thou shalt be blest as thou hast been,
Through life and death our English Queen!
Empress to all the world beside
With glittering pomp and power and pride,
But here, at home,—thy better part—
A Queen who reigns in every heart!

VICTORIA'S JUBILEE (for Music).

I.

(Major forte.)
Rejoice, O Land! Imperial Realm, rejoice!
Wherever round the world
Our standard floats unfurl'd,
Let every heart exult in music's voice!
Be glad, O grateful England,
Triumphant shout and sing, Land!
As from each belfried steeple
The clanging joy-bells sound,
Let all our happy people
The wondering world around,
Rejoice with the joy this Jubilee brings,
Circling the globe as with seraphim wings!

II.

(Minor piano.)
Lo, the wondrous story,
Praise all praise above!
Fifty years of glory,
Fifty years of love!
Chastened by much sadness
'Mid the dark of death,

But illumed with gladness
By the sun of faith:
What a life, O Nations,
What a reign is seen
In the consummations
Crowning Britain's Queen!

III.

(Finale: crescendo.)

Riches of Earth, and Graces of Heaven,
God in His love hath abundantly given,
More by a year than seven times seven,
Blessing our Empress the Queen!

Secrets of Science, and marvels of Art,
Health of the home, and wealth of the mart,
All that is best for the mind and the heart,
Crowded around her are seen.

Honour, Religion, and Plenty are hers,
Peace, and all heavenly Messengers,
While loyalty every spirit upstirs
To shout aloud “God save the Queen!”

[The music as a majestic finale to include touches of Rule Britannia, Luther's Hymn, and the National Anthem.]

AN ODE

WRITTEN FOR THE CORONATION OF VICTORIA.

I.

All joy to thee, my country, and my pride!
Be the glad Muse my patriot lay to guide;
Suggest the thought, and lead the strain,
While, reaching at so grand a scope,
The weal of Britain's darling hope,
Our monarch of the main,—
With courtier phrase, yet honest heart,
I guide the poet's sacred art
To worthier ends, than had I sung
In the sweet-bitter words of Flattery's fulsome tongue.

II.

Nobly through the sounding seas
Our gallant vessel ploughs her way,
Bending graceful to the breeze
Her taper masts and streamers gay,

And dashing from her prow the silver-crested spray;
While bosom'd out by these fair gales
All gorgeous, her heraldic sails

The coins of some of our kings bear the arms of England displayed on the sails of a royal galley, allegorically intended for Britain.

That honoured coat display,
Which no reproachful taint or stain
Hath sullied yet by land or main,
At evening's blush of rose, or in morn's eye of grey.

III.

Well is she mann'd; her whole ship's crew
A patriot band, good hearts and true,
Will fight her to the last.
Into the battle let her sail,
Not one aboard her but would nail
The colours to the mast:
Yon angel-pilot at the helm,
The guardian-spirit of the realm,
Is mild Religion's form,
While Hope above her, on bright wing,
Holds out the legend, “Church and King;”

It is perhaps scarcely worth observing, that the “king” of this country is to be rightly considered as an office, irrespective of sex: the same remark is applicable to the word “heir:” Elizabeth did not scruple to call herself Defensor Fidei, in the masculine; nay, I think that on some occasions that Amazon was styled Rex!

The magic signal that shall bring
Her safe through strife and storm.

For “Britain” then, our gallant ship,
Let every heart and every lip
Raise high the thrilling cheer;
On the vast empire of her crown
The circling sun goes never down,
Nor looks upon her peer.

IV.

There sits the island Queen,
The good, the young, the fair,
The Lord's vicegerent, mild of mien,
Britannia's gentle heir;
And over her anointed head,
The virtues hovering there,
All sweetest influences shed,
And gild her jewelled brow with hallowing light serene.
Invested with imperial robe,
And holding forth the mystic globe,
Victoria sits enthroned,
While, flashing far from many a gem,
With Britain's triple diadem
Our virgin Queen is crown'd:

The trumpets' blast, the cannons' roar,
Spread the glad news from shore to shore,
Thund'ring thy welcome out,
And every heart new fervour feels,
As rings around in deafening peals
A nation's joyous shout.
So, the gay monarch of the Nile,
Sole arbitress of Egypt's fate,

“The gay monarch of the Nile.”

—Cleopatra.

To prove the triumph of her smile,
In golden pomp and beauty sate,—
So—but for this,—her glory was of earth,
A little tinsel, of how little worth!
But thine, O Christian Queen, hath a more holy birth.

V.

A vision of the deep:—
As o'er the western waves
Her course our good ship strives to keep,
Forth starting from their distant graves
Behold! a shadowy train
In royal robes along the water sweep,
And with attendant thousands throng the trampled main.

See, in long line the ghostly band,
Each stretching out her sceptred hand,
Hath hailed us in our course;
The sails flap idly on the mast,
The seas are dead, hush'd is the blast,
And, like a staggered horse
Checked in its charge by the opposing spear,
The gallant “Britain” stops in mid career.

VI.

Eldest of those royal dead,
Semiramis the Great,
Raised in the clouds her high tiara'd head,
As on her mighty throne the giant shadow sate.
And “Babylon is fallen,” she cried,
“For all her pomp, and power, and pride,
“The God of nations she defied.
“And where is Babel—where?
“My state was swell'd by captive kings,
“I lack'd not aught of earthly things,—
“And yet the best the brightest brings
“Is but a gilded care.

“O royal sister, heed my speech,
“Too late Semiramis would teach
“The littleness of power,
“But that it gives thee means of good,
“The richest triumph must be view'd
“The pageant of an hour.
“Thy people's weal regard thou first,
“And hold those parasites accurst
“Who bid thee seek thine own,
“Nor less, their counsel false and ill,
“Whose low-bred aim is basely still
“To undermine the throne.
“So shall thy kingdom stand,
“Fair monarch of the main,
“And all the plots by treason plann'd
“Assault thy state in vain.”

VII.

The shadow spoke, and melted in a cloud:
But in her stead, a cherub crowd,
With harps divinely sweet,
Pour forth their love in measured chime,
And tune their melodies sublime,
Our Sovereign Liege to greet.

VIII.

And who is this in peaceful car,
With gold and spices from afar,
Of sage and sober mien?
Her brow is thoughtful, yet her cheek
Is bloom'd with youthful beauty meek,—
To Thee sweet counsel would she speak,
O hear the Sheban Queen.
“Victoria, for thy tender years
“I mingle with a sister's pray'rs
“Unutterable love,
“I see thee on the crest of power,
“As, soaring high where eagles tower,
“The soft and gentle dove;
“Then, royal sister, hear my voice,—
“From earth's extremest verge I came,
“Smit by the love of Wisdom's name,
“For Wisdom had I made my choice:
“Wisest of men I went to hear,
“But wiser far than man is here,
“Queen, in His light rejoice.
“While girt with pomp, supremely great,
“In the full majesty of state,
“Heed thou Him:

“Circled by triumphs, or by fears,
“Whether thy lot be joys or tears,
“Seek thou Him:
“Whether all glorious on thy throne,
“Or in thy chamber left alone,
“Hear thou Him:
“Exposed to death and treacherous snares,
“Or guarded by thy people's pray'rs,
“Trust thou Him.”

IX.

Hark! the horrid voice of war,
Nearer yet with dreadful din,
All tumultuously from far
Like a whirlwind rushes in:
By the trumpets, and the drums,
Swords and spears and warriors gory,
From the fight Zenobia comes,
Dauntless still, and flush'd with glory!
And near her riding, dimly seen
In scythéd chariot, stern of mien,
Boadicea, British Queen,—
Congenial spirits they;

For hearth and altar still they fought,
Nor deem'd the battle dearly bought
Their own heart's blood could pay;
Reckless of self, each boldly bled
As her dear country's suffering head,
And dared the darkest day.
“Then hear us speak,
“Thou tender Queen,
“Whose heart is meek,
“And eye serene;
“For haply ere thy task is done,
“Some foe to God and thee
“Thy kingdoms fair may overrun,
“Forcing to fight,—where he alone
“Who fights and kills is free.
“O mighty Sovereign, thou anointed head
“Of all the good and great that earth can give,
“Long may thy heart, to blood-stained horrors dead,
“In plenteous peace, and chastened pleasure live!
“But should some seeming friend, or foe,
“Aim at thy crown the traitor's blow,
“To lay the foul usurper low
“Spare not,

“Whether in bold ungodly vein,
“They mock at “Him by whom kings reign,”
“To smite the base, the Belial train,
“Spare not,
“Or whether some invading host
“Spread like the locusts o'er thy coast,
“Be this thy motto and thy boast,
“Spare not.”

X.

Confident in her right divine,
And awful still in death,
All queen-like virtues brightly shine
In our Elizabeth;
And there she stands, majestic form,
Her enemies' fear, her people's love,
Stout as a rock, amid the storm,
But in the calm, mild as a dove.
Victoria, thee she counsels well:—
“Firmness must nerve the ruler's hand,
“Thou sittest on that pinnacle
“Of pow'r unchallenged,—to command!
“Still, let the sunbeam of thy smile
“Fall genial on the peaceful arts,

“And by thy generous hand beguile,
“Unknown to them, thy people's hearts:
“Bid the poor artizan rejoice,
“Blessing thy name with heart and voice,
“For favour on his humble toil,
“For daily bread, and wine, and oil;
“Lift modest Genius from the ground,
“Encourage Truth, wherever found,
“And near thy throne place honest-speaking Worth,
“So shall thy kingdom stand, and be a praise on earth.”

XI.

And who art thou, with languid face,
Where melancholy's softest trace
Is mark'd upon thy mien?
Through the rent mist I note thee now,—
The coronet upon thy brow
Shows thee, not quite a queen;
In shining garments, like a saint,
I see thee lying, fair and faint,
Thy newborn babe beside.

Yes, mother of a moment's joy,
Thy sorrow did our bliss destroy,
When—royal Charlotte died!
And now thy hallowed eyes
Are lifted up in pray'r,
Amid the triumphs of the skies,
Prevailing meekly there:
For her thou pleadest, that when Heaven's good will
Her cup of blessing yet shall higher fill,
And to the glories of a monarch's life
Add the dear comforts of a loving wife,
That name, the sweetest earth can give, be Thine,
O happy Mother of a royal line.

XII.

For now, once more, Britannia's hopes are bright,
Refulgent in thy heavenly-borrowed light,
Victoria, gracious Queen,
Once more,—for Britain longs to see thee, bride,—
May the full promise of a nation's pride,
In one fair form be seen,

And then, with each domestic grace endued,
While for the glories of thy state
The wondering world shall call thee Great,
Be thou more loved at home,—Victoria the Good!