POEMS. (PUBLISHED 1830.) TO THE QUEEN. REVERED, beloved- O you that hold 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 while a sweeter music wakes, And thro' wild March the throstle calls, Where all about your palace-walls The sun-lit almond-blossoms shakes Take, Madam, this poor book of song; For tho' the faults were thick as dust In vacant chambers, I could trust Your kindness. May you rule us long, 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; God gave her peace; her land reposed; A thousand claims to reverence closed In her as Mother, Wife, and Queen; "And statesmen at her council met "By shaping some august decree, MARCH, 1851. To read those laws; an accent very low In blandishment, but a most silver flow Of subtle-paced counsel in distress, Right to the heart and brain, tho' undescried, Winning its way with extreme gentleness Thro' all the outworks of suspicious pride; A courage to endure and to obey; A hate of gossip parlance, and of sway, Crown'd Isabel, thro' all her placid life, The queen of marriage, a most perfect wife. III. The mellow'd reflex of a winter moon ; A clear stream flowing with a muddy one, Till in its onward current it absorbs With swifter movement and in purer light The vexed eddies of its wayward brother: A leaning and upbearing parasite, Clothing the stem, which else had fallen quite, With cluster'd flower-bells and ambrosial orbs Of rich fruit-bunches leaning on each other --- Shadow forth thee:-the world hath not another (Tho' all her fairest forms are types of thee, And thou of God in thy great charity) Of such a finish'd chasten'd purity. MARIANA. "Mariana in the moated grange." Measure for Measure. WITH blackest moss the flower-plots That held the pear to the gable-wall. The broken sheds look'd sad and strange : Unlifted was the clinking latch; Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange. She only said, "My life is dreary, Her tears fell with the dews at even ; Her tears fell ere the dews were dried; She could not look on the sweet heaven, Either at morn or eventide. II. Low-cowering shall the Sophist sit; Falsehood shall bare her plaited brow: Fair-fronted Truth shall droop not now With shrilling shafts of subtle wit. Nor martyr-flames, nor trenchant swords Can do away that ancient lie; A gentler death shall Falsehood die, Shot thro' and thro' with cunning words. III. Weak Truth a-leaning on her crutch, Wan, wasted Truth in her utmost need, Thy kingly intellect shall feed, Until she be an athlete bold, And weary with a finger's touch Those writhed limbs of lightning speed; Like that strange angel which of old, Until the breaking of the light, Wrestled with wandering Israel, Past Yabbok brook the livelong night, And heaven's mazed signs stood still In the dim tract of Penuel. MADELINE. I. THOU art not steep'd in golden languors, No tranced summer calm is thine, Ever varying Madeline. Thro' light and shadow thou dost range, Sudden glances, sweet and strange, Delicious spites and darling angers, And airy forms of flitting change. II. Smiling, frowning, evermore, Frowns perfect-sweet along the brow Thy smile and frown are not aloof Each to each is dearest brother; All the mystery is thine; |