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35
CORONATION SONNETS IN 1838.
TO THE QUEEN.
Monarch of millions, yet a gentle maid,O, fair and young,—yet dignified and sage,
Most glorious Queen, yet in thy glory staid,
Bright star of promise for our golden age,
All hail, the Lord's anointed! Thou art lent
In mercy, like our other blessings all;
A messenger of peace, divinely sent,
That only good may rise, and evil fall;
Heal, then, a realm by jarring factions rent;
Take these contentious brothers by the hand,
Smile down their quarrels, and unite their strength;
'Till, only jealous for their mother-land,
Men of all systems, reconciled at length
To one just object, take their patriot stand
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The archetypes of Heaven,—the Altar and the Throne!
THE CORONATION.
Queen of the Isles, blue ocean's choicest pearl,We hail thy day of glory!—unto thee
Admiring thousands bend the duteous knee,
And bless thee for their brightening hopes, fair girl.
Hark! 'tis the thunder of a nation's voice,
Uttering its awful love in loyal peals;
While, as thy car of triumph onward wheels,
The trumpets, and the cannon, and the chimes,
Bid every true-born Briton's heart rejoice,
Glad in the sunny light of happier times:
And, Royal Lady, if amid the whirl
Of majesty and greatness,—as of old,
A secret monitor, in duty bold,
To tell thee “thou art mortal,” humbly dares,
Forgive the noble Muse, and love her for her pray'rs.
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THE ABBEY.
Never again,—till earth casts out her dead,And teeming ocean yields her rescued prey,—
A sight so full of hope, delight, and dread,
Thrilling and grand, as met thy view this day,
May'st thou behold: high reaching overhead
The light aerial galleries were throng'd
Sublime with multitudes, acclaiming loud;
While, far beneath, that coroneted crowd
Sat like a thousand kings; in yonder aisle
A virgin troop, azure and silver, show'd
As spirits, who to a fairy world belong'd,
Or some soft nest of doves: deeply the while
Rolled in a deluge from the golden quire
The tide of musical praise,—hail mixt with fire!
While midway throned, the brightest central gem,
Fair Moon illumining that glorious scene,
In purple robe and glittering diadem,
Majestic sat Britannia's gentle Queen!
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IMPERIAL FEDERATION.
[_]
P. S.—As a fitting end to my Jubilæan Offertory, I reprint here, from the Morning Post, this latest dropping from my pen.
I
“That they all may be one!”—that mother and daughters,Tenderly link'd like the Graces in love,
Girdling the globe, over lands, over waters,
May be united, beneath and above;
Here, on this orb's upper hemisphere olden,
There, on that younger half circle beneath,
Everywhere shall one sweet union enfolden
England's fair scions in olive-twined wreath.
II
All to be one! What a blest federation,Britain, Imperial Queen of the World!
Seal'd as one heart, one life, and one nation,
Under one Cross, one standard unfurl'd;
Owning one law of religion and reason,
Speaking one language, and rich in its wealth;
Proud of the past, and the bright present season,
And the grand future of hope and of health.
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III
So may the whole world's glorious communion,Nature and Science and Commerce rejoice,
Growing together in one happy union,
Filling the welkin with gratitude's voice—
Canada, Africa, Zealand, Australia,
India, continents, isles of the sea,
Adding your jewels to Britain's regalia,
One with Old England, the home of the free!
[Our Empress Queen!—Victoria's name of glory]
[_]
The thirty-fifth of my Three Hundred Sonnets, published by Hall & Virtue in 1860, is a most fortunate prophecy, certainly more than twenty years before D'Israeli made it history. The “way chaotic” was the Indian Mutiny. The sonnet is headed, by happy anticipation, “India's Empress.”
Added as England's grace to Hindostan:
O climax to this age's wondrous story,
Full of new hope to India and to Man
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Of our Jerusalem shall now shine there
Brighter than ever since the world began:
Yet, by a way chaotic, drear and gory,
Travelled this blessing; as a martyr might
Wrestling to heaven through tortures unaware.
Our Empress Queen! for thee thy peoples' pray'r
All round the globe to God ascends united,
That He may strengthen thee no guilt to spare,
Nor leave one act of goodness unrequited.
VIVAT VICTORIA! REGINA ET IMPERATRIX.
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