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Shout, Icenian, Catieuchlanian, shout,

Coritanian, Trinobant,

Till the victim hear within and yearn to hurry precipitously,

Like the leaf in a roaring whirlwind, like the smoke in a hurricane whirl'd.

Lo the colony, there they rioted in the city of Cúnobelíne! 60 There they drank in cups of emerald, there at tables of ebony lay, Rolling on their purple couches in their tender effeminacy.

There they dwelt and there they rioted ; there there they dwell no

more.

Burst the gates, and burn the palaces, break the works of the statuary, Take the hoary Roman head and shatter it, hold it abominable, Cut the Roman boy to pieces in his lust and voluptuousness, Lash the maiden into swooning, me they lash'd and humiliated, Chop the breasts from off the mother, dash the brains of the little one out,

Up, my Britons! on, my chariot! on, my chargers, trample them under us!'

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So the Queen Boädicéa, standing loftily charioted, Brandishing in her hand a dar and rolling glances lioness-like, Yell'd and shriek'd between her daughters in her fierce volubility. Till her people all around the royal chariot agitated,

Madly dash'd the darts together, writh

ing barbarous lineaments, Made the noise of frosty woodlands,

when they shiver in January, Roar'd as when the roaring breakers

boom and blanch on the precipices, Yell'd as when the winds of winter tear an oak on a promontory. So the silent colony, hearing her tumultuous adversaries

Clash the darts and on the buckler beat

with rapid unanimous hand, Thought on all her evil tyrannies, all her pitiless avarice,

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Till she felt the heart within her fall and flutter tremulously,

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O MIGHTY-MOUTH'D inventor of harmonies,

O skill'd to sing of Time or Eternity, God-gifted organ-voice of England, Milton, a name to resound for

ages; Whose Titan angels, Gabriel, Abdiel, Starr'd from Jehovah's gorgeous armories,

Tower, as the deep-domed empyrean

Rings to the roar of an angel onset ! Me rather all that bowery loneliness, The brooks of Eden mazily murmuring,

And bloom profuse and cedar arches

Charm, as a wanderer out in ocean, Where some refulgent sunset of India Streams o'er a rich ambrosial ocean isle, And crimson-hued the stately palm

woods

Whisper in odorous heights of

even.

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If easy patrons of their kin

Have left the last free race with naked coasts!

They knew the precious things they had to guard;

As long as we remain, we must speak For us, we will not spare the tyrant

free,

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one hard word.

niggard throats of Manchester may bawl,

What England was, shall her true sons forget?

We are not cotton-spinners all,

But some love England and her honor yet.

And these in our Thermopylæ shall stand,

And hold against the world this honor of the land.

A WELCOME TO HER ROYAL HIGHNESS MARIE ALEXANDROVNA, DUCHESS OF EDINBURGH

MARCH 7, 1874

I

THE Son of him with whom we strove for power

Whose will is lord thro' all his world

domain

Who made the serf a man, and burst

his chain

Has given our Prince his own imperial Flower,

Alexandrovna.

And welcome, Russian flower, a people's pride,

To Britain, when her flowers begin to blow !

From love to love, from home to home you go,

From mother unto mother, stately bride,

Marie Alexandrovna !

II

The golden news along the steppes is blown,

And at thy name the Tartar tents are stirr'd;

Elburz and all the Caucasus have heard ;

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Since English Harold gave its throne NIGHTINGALES warbled without,

a wife,

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Within was weeping for thee; Shadows of three dead men Walk'd in the walks with me, Shadows of three dead men, and thou wast one of the three.

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