Round affrighted Lisbon drew
The treble works, the vast designs
Of his labour'd rampart-lines,
Where he greatly stood at bay,
Whence he issued forth anew,
And ever great and greater grew,
Beating from the wasted vines
Back to France her banded swarms,
Back to France with countless blows,
Till o'er the hills her eagles flew
Beyond the Pyrenean pines,
Follow'd up in valley and glen
With blare of bugle, clamour of men,
Roll of cannon and clash of arms,
And England pouring on her foes.
Such a war had such a close.
Again their ravening eagle rose

In anger, wheel'd on Europe-shadowing wings,

And barking for the thrones of kings; Till one that sought but Duty's iron

crown

On that loud sabbath shook the spoiler down;

A day of onsets of despair!
Dash'd on every rocky square

Their surging charges foam'd themselves

away;

Last, the Prussian trumpet blew;
Thro' the long-tormented air
Heaven flash'd a sudden jubilant ray,
And down we swept and charged and
overthrew.

So great a soldier taught us there,
What long-enduring hearts could do
In that world-earthquake, Waterloo!
Mighty Seaman, tender and true,
And pure as he from taint of craven guile,
O saviour of the silver-coasted isle,
O shaker of the Baltic and the Nile,
If aught of things that here befall
Touch a spirit among things divine,
If love of country move thee there at all,
Be glad, because his bones are laid by
thine!

And thro' the centuries let a people's

voice

In full acclaim,

A people's voice,

The proof and echo of all human fame,
A people's voice, when they rejoice
At civic revel and pomp and game,
Attest their great commander's claim

With honour, honour, honour, honour to him,

Eternal honour to his name.

VII.

A people's voice! we are a people yet. Tho' all men else their nobler dreams forget,

Confused by brainless mobs and lawless Powers;

Thank Him who isled us here, and roughly set

His Briton in blown seas and storming showers,

We have a voice, with which to pay the debt

Of boundless love and reverence and regret

To those great men who fought, and kept it ours.

And keep it ours, O God, from brute control;

O Statesmen, guard us, guard the eye, the soul

Of Europe, keep our noble England whole,

And save the one true seed of freedom

Sown

Betwixt a people and their ancient

throne,

That sober freedom out of which there springs

Our loyal passion for our temperate kings;

For, saving that, ye help to save mankind

Till public wrong be crumbled into dust, And drill the raw world for the march

of mind,

Till crowds at length be sane and crowns

be just.

But wink no more in slothful overtrust.
Remember him who led your hosts;
He bade you guard the sacred coasts.
Your cannons moulder on the seaward
wall;

His voice is silent in your council-hall
For ever; and whatever tempests lour
For ever silent; even if they broke
In thunder, silent; yet remember all
He spoke among you, and the Man who
spoke;

Who never sold the truth to serve the hour,

Nor palter'd with Eternal God for power; Who let the turbid streams of rumour flow

Thro' either babbling world of high and low;

Whose life was work, whose language rife

With rugged maxims hewn from life;
Who never spoke against a foe;
Whose eighty winters freeze with one
rebuke

All great self-seekers trampling on the right:

Truth-teller was our England's Alfred named;

Truth-lover was our English Duke;
Whatever record leap to light
He never shall be shamed.

VIII.

Lo, the leader in these glorious wars
Now to glorious burial slowly borne,
Follow'd by the brave of other lands,
He, on whom from both her open hands
Lavish Honour shower'd all her stars,
And affluent Fortune emptied all her
horn.

Yea, let all good things await
Him who cares not to be great,
But as he saves or serves the state.

Not once or twice in our rough islandstory,

The path of duty was the way to glory:
He that walks it, only thirsting
For the right, and learns to deaden
Love of self, before his journey closes,

He shall find the stubborn thistle bursting

Into glossy purples, which outredden
All voluptuous garden-roses.
Not once or twice in our fair island-story,
The path of duty was the way to glory:
He, that ever following her commands,
On with toil of heart and knees and
hands,

Thro' the long gorge to the far light has

won

His path upward, and prevail'd, Shall find the toppling crags of Duty scaled

Are close upon the shining table-lands To which our God Himself is moon and

sun.

Such was he: his work is done.
But while the races of mankind endure,
Let his great example stand
Colossal, seen of every land,

And keep the soldier firm, the statesman pure:

Till in all lands and thro' all human story
The path of duty be the way to glory:
And let the land whose hearths he saved
from shame

For many and many an age proclaim
At civic revel and pomp and game,
And when the long-illumined cities
flame,

Their ever-loyal iron leader's fame,
With honour, honour, honour, honour to
him,

Eternal honour to his name.

IX.

Peace, his triumph will be sung
By some yet unmoulded tongue
Far on in summers that we shall not see:
Peace, it is a day of pain

For one about whose patriarchal knee
Late the little children clung:
O peace, it is a day of pain

For one, upon whose hand and heart and brain

Once the weight and fate of Europe hung.
Ours the pain, be his the gain!
More than is of man's degree
Must be with us, watching here
At this, our great solemnity.
Whom we see not we revere;
We revere, and we refrain
From talk of battles loud and vain,
And brawling memories all too free
For such a wise humility

As befits a solemn fane:
We revere, and while we hear
The tides of Music's golden sea
Setting toward eternity,

Uplifted high in heart and hope are we,
Until we doubt not that for one so true
There must be other nobler work to do
Than when he fought at Waterloo,
And Victor he must ever be.

For tho' the Giant Ages heave the hill

4

And break the shore, and evermore
Make and break, and work their will;
Tho' world on world in myriad myriads
roll

Round us, each with different powers,
And other forms of life than ours,
What know we greater than the soul?
On God and Godlike men we build our
trust.

Hush, the Dead March wails in the peo

ple's ears:

The dark crowd moves, and there are sobs and tears:

The black earth yawns: the mortal disappears;

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust;
He is gone who seem'd so great.-
Gone; but nothing can bereave him
Of the force he made his own
Being here, and we believe him
Something far advanced in State,
And that he wears a truer crown

Than any wreath that man can weave him.

Speak no more of his renown,
Lay your earthly fancies down,

And in the vast cathedral leave him,
God accept him, Christ receive him.
1852.

THE THIRD OF FEBRUARY,

1852.

My Lords, we heard you speak: you told us all

That England's honest censure went too far;

That our free press should cease to brawl,

Not sting the fiery Frenchman into

war.

It was our ancient privilege, my Lords, To fling whate'er we felt, not fearing, into words.

We love not this French God, the child of Hell,

Wild War, who breaks the converse of the wise;

But though we love kind Peace so well, We dare not ev'n by silence sanction

lies.

Where Science, Art, and Labour have outpour'd

Their myriad horns of plenty at our feet.

II.

O silent father of our Kings to be Mourn'd in this golden hour of jubilee, For this, for all, we weep our thanks to thee!

III.

The world-compelling plan was thine, -
And, lo! the long laborious miles
Of Palace; lo! the giant aisles,
Rich in model and design;
Harvest-tool and husbandry,
Loom and wheel and enginery,
Secrets of the sullen mine,

Steel and gold, and corn and wine,
Fabric rough, or fairy-fine,
Sunny tokens of the Line,
Polar marvels, and a feast

Of wonder, out of West and East,
And shapes and hues of Art divine!
All of beauty, all of use,
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.

Is the goal so far away?

Far, how far no tongue can say, Let us dream our dream to-day.

V.

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

To happy havens under all the sky,

And mix the seasons and the golden hours;

Till each man find his own in all men's

good,

And all men work in noble brotherhood, Breaking their mailed fleets and armed 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 mottoes 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