TO THE QUEEN. REVERED, beloved,- O you that hold Than arms, or power of brain, or birth, 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 through wild March the throstle calls, Where, all about your palace-walls, The sun-lit almond-blossom shakes Take, Madam, this poor book of song; In vacant chambers, I could trust And leave us rulers of your blood As noble till the latest day! May children of our children say, "She wrought her people lasting good; "Her court was pure; her life serene; "And statesmen at her council met By shaping some august decree, Which kept her throne unshaken still, Broad-based upon her people's will, And compassed by the inviolate sea." MARCH, 1851. POEMS. CLARIBEL. A MELODY. 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 Of an inward agony, Where Claribel low-lieth. At eve the beetle boometh Athwart the thicket lone: At noon the wild bee hummeth About the mossed headstone: |