TO THE QUEEN. Revered, beloved-O you that hold Than arms, or power of brain, or birth Victoria,—since your Royal grace To one of less desert allows This laurel greener from the browsi And should your greatness, and the care If aught of ancient worth be there; Then-while a sweeter music wakes, And thro' wild March the throstle calls, The sun-lit almond-blossom shakes— VOL. I. B Take, Madam, this poor book of song ; For tho' the faults were thick as dust In vacant chambers, I could trust And leave us rulers of your blood May children of our children say, '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 'By shaping some august decree, Which kept her throne unshaken still, Broad-based upon her people's will, And compass'd by the inviolate sea.' March 1851. JUVENILIA. CLARIBEL. A MELODY. I. WHERE Claribel low-lieth The breezes pause and die, But the solemn oak-tree sigheth, With an ancient melody Of an inward agony, Where Claribel low-lieth. II. At eve the beetle boometh Athwart the thicket lone: At noon the wild bee hummeth About the moss'd headstone : |