III. The world-compelling plan was thine,- Rich in model and design; Steel and gold, and corn and wine, Of wonder, out of West and East, That one fair planet can produce, Brought from under every star, Blown from over every main, And mixt, as life is mixt with pain, The works of peace with works of war. IV. O ye, the wise who think, the wise who reign, From growing commerce loose her latest chain, And let the fair white-wing'd peacemaker fly towers, And ruling by obeying Nature's powers, And gathering all the fruits of earth and crown'd with all her flowers. A WELCOME TO ALEXANDRA. MARCH 7, 1863. SEA-KINGS' daughter from over the sea, Alexandra! Saxon and Norman and Dane are we, But all of us Danes in our welcome of thee, Alexandra! Welcome her, thunders of fort and of fleet ! Welcome her, thundering cheer of the street ! Welcome her, all things youthful and sweet, Scatter the blossom under her feet! Break, happy land, into earlier flowers! Make music, O bird, in the new-budded bowers! Blazon your mottos of blessing and prayer ! Welcome her, welcome her, all that is ours! Warble, O bugle, and trumpet, blare! Flags, flutter out upon turrets and towers! Flames, on the windy headland flare! Utter your jubilee, steeple and spire! Clash, ye bells, in the merry March air! Flash, ye cities, in rivers of fire! Rush to the roof, sudden rocket, and higher Melt into stars for the land's desire! Roar as the sea when he welcomes the land, And welcome her, welcome the land's desire, The sea-kings' daughter as happy as fair, Blissful bride of a blissful heir, Bride of the heir of the kings of the sea O joy to the people and joy to the throne, Come to us, love us and make us your own: For Saxon or Dane or Norman we, thee, Alexandra! THE GRANDMOTHER. I. AND Willy, my eldest-born, is gone, you say, little Anne? Never the wife for Willy: he wouldn't take my advice. II. For, Annie, you see, her father was not the man to save, III. Willy, my beauty, my eldest-born, the flower of the flock; Never a man could fling him : for Willy stood like a rock. 'Here's a leg for a babe of a week!' says doctor; and he would be bound, There was not his like that year in twenty parishes round. IV. Strong of his hands, and strong on his legs, but still of his tongue! I ought to have gone before him : I wonder he went so young. I cannot cry for him, Annie : I have not long to stay; Perhaps I shall see him the sooner, for he lived far away. V. Why do you look at me, Annie? you think I am hard and cold; VI. For I remember a quarrel I had with your father, my dear, I mean your grandfather, Annie: it cost me a world of woe, VII. For Jenny, my cousin, had come to the place, and I knew right well VIII. And the parson made it his text that week, and he said likewise, IX. And Willy had not been down to the farm for a week and a day ; But soiling another, Annie, will never make oneself clean. X. And I cried myself well-nigh blind, and all of an evening late I climb'd to the top of the garth, and stood by the road at the gate. The moon like a rick on fire was rising over the dale, And whit, whit, whit, in the bush beside me chirrupt the nightingale. Willy stood up like a man, and look'd the thing that he meant ; XIII. And he turn'd, and I saw his eyes all wet, in the sweet moonshine : XIV. 'Marry you, Willy!' said I, 'but I needs must speak my mind, And I fear you'll listen to tales, be jealous and hard and unkind.' But he turn'd and claspt me in his arms, and answer'd, 'No, love, no;' Seventy years ago, my darling, seventy years ago. XV. So Willy and I were wedded: I wore a lilac gown; And the ringers rang with a will, and he gave the ringers a crown. But the first that ever I bare was dead before he was born, Shadow and shine is life, little Annie, flower and thorn. XVI. That was the first time, too, that ever I thought of death. I had not wept, little Anne, not since I had been a wife; But I wept like a child that day, for the babe had fought for his life. XVII. His dear little face was troubled, as if with anger or pain: I look'd at the still little body-his trouble had all been in vain. For Willy I cannot weep, I shall see him another morn : But I wept like a child for the child that was dead before he was born. XVIII. But he cheer'd me, my good man, for he seldom said me nay: And he died, and I could not weep-my own time seem'd so near. XIX. But I wish'd it had been God's will that I, too, then could have died : XX. Pattering over the boards, my Annie who left me at two, XXI. And Harry and Charlie, I hear them too-they sing to their team : XXII. And yet I know for a truth, there's none of them left alive; I knew them all as babies, and now they're elderly men. XXIII. For mine is a time of peace, it is not often I grieve; XXIV. To be sure the preacher says, our sins should make us sad : |