TO THE QUEEN. REVERED, beloved-O you that hold A nobler office upon earth Than arms, or power of brain, or birth Could give the warrior kings of old, Victoria, — since your Royal grace This laurel greener from the brows And should your greatness, and the care Then while a sweeter music wakes, And thro' wild March the throstle calls, Where all about your palace-walls The sun-lit almond-blossom shakes — Take, Madam, this poor book of song; And leave us rulers of your blood May children of our children say, 'Her court was pure; her life serene; 'And statesmen at her council met 'By shaping some august decree, MARCH, 1851. POEMS. CLARIBEL. A MELODY. WHER I. WHERE Claribel low-lieth The breezes pause and die, Letting the rose-leaves fall: But the solemn oak-tree sigheth, Thick-leaved, ambrosial, With an ancient melody 2. At eve the beetle boometh |