TO THE QUEEN. Revered, beloved,—0 you that hold A nobler office upon earth Than arms, or power of brain, or birth, Victoria,—since your Royal grace Of him that uttered nothing base; And should your greatness, and the care That yokes with empire, yield you time To make demand of modern rhyme, 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 As noble till the latest day!May children of our children say, l)L. I. 1 "Her court was pure; her life serene;God gave her peace; her land reposed; A thousand claims to reverence closed In her as Mother, Wife and Queen; "And statesmen at her council met Who knew the seasons, when to take Occasion by the hand, and make The bounds of freedom wider yet, By shaping some august decree, And compassed by the inviolate sea." March, 1851. |