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TO THE QUEEN.
REVERED, beloved,—O you that hold
Could give the warrior kings of old,
Victoria, since your Royal grace
Of him that uttered nothing base;
And should your greatness, and the care
If aught of ancient worth be there;
Then—while a sweeter music wakes,
The sunlit almond-blossom shakes—
Take, Madam, this poor book of song;
Your kindness. May you rule us long,
And leave us rulers of your blood
“Her court was pure; her life serene;
In her as Mother, Wife and Queen;
“And statesmen at her council met
The bounds of freedom wider yet,
By shaping some august decree,
And compassed by the inviolate sea.”
PO E. M. S.
C L A R IB E L.
WHERE Claribel low-lieth
At eve the beetle boometh Athwart the thicket lone: At noon the wild bee hummeth About the mossed headstone: At midnight the moon cometh And looketh down alone. Her song the lintwhite swelleth, The clear-voiced mavis dwelleth, The callow throstle lispeth, The slumbrous wave outwelleth, The babbling runnel crispeth, The hollow grot replieth Where Claribel low-lieth.
AIRY, fairy Lilian,
When my passion seeks Pleasance in love-sighs, She, looking through and through me Thoroughly to undo me, Smiling, never speaks: So innocent-arch, so cunning-simple, From beneath her gathered wimple Glancing with black-beaded eyes, Till the lightning laughters dimple The baby-roses in her cheeks; Then away she flies.
Prithee weep, May Lilian Gayety without eclipse Wearieth me, May Lilian: Through my very heart it thrilleth When from crimson-threaded lips Silver-treble laughter trilleth: Prithee weep, May Lilian.
Praying all I can,