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She heard and wept--
They decked her courtly halls;
They reined her hundred steeds; They shouted at her palace gate,
“A noble Queen succeeds !". Her name has stirred the mountain's sleep,
Her praise has filled the town;
Alone she wept,
She saw no purples shine,
For tears had dimmed her eyes;
Were happier pageantries !
Those million shouts to drown“God save the Queen !” from hill to mart, She heard through all her beating heart,
And turned and wept-
God save thee, weeping Queen!
Thou shalt be well beloved ! The tyrant's sceptre cannot move
As those pure tears have moved !
That tyrants cannot own--
Whose Sovereign wept-
God bless thee, weeping Queen,
With blessing more divine !
That tender heart of thine !
That when the thrones of earth shall be
As low as graves brought down,
Thou wilt not weep
WHEN Britain first, at Heaven's command,
Arose from out the azure main,
“Rule, Britanuia, rule the waves-
The nations not so bless'd as thee,
Must in their turns to tyrants fall; While thou shalt flourish great and free,
The dread and envy of them all.
Still more majestic shalt thou rise,
More dreadful from each foreign stroke; As the loud blast that tears the skies
Serves but to root thy native oak.
Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame :
All their attempts to bend thee down Will but arouse thy gen'rous flame;
But work their woe and thy renown.
To thee belongs the rural reign;
Thy cities shall with commerce shine; All thine shall be the subject main,
And every shore it circles thine.
The Muses, still with freedom found,
Shall to thy happy coast repair ;
Blest isle ! with matchless beauty crowned,
“Rule, Britannia, rule the waves -
THE TWO APRIL MORNINGS.
We walked along, while bright and red
Uprose the morning sun; And Matthew stopped, he looked, and said,
“ The will of God be done."
A village schoolmaster was he,
With hair of glittering gray; As blithe a man as you could see
On a spring holiday.
And on that morning, through the grass
And by the steaming rills, We travelled merrily, to pass
A day among the hills.
“Our work,” said I," was well begun ;
Then, from thy breast what thought, Beneath so beautiful a sun,
So sad a sigh has brought ?".
A second time did Matthew stop;
And fixing still his eye
To me he made reply :
“Yon cloud with that long purple cleft
Brings fresh into my mind
Full thirty years behind.
And just above yon slope of corn
Such colours, and no other,
Were in the sky that April morn,
Of this the very brother.
With rod and line I sued the sport
Which that sweet season gave,
Beside my daughter's grave.
Nine summers had she scarcely seen,
The pride of all the vale ;
A very nightingale.
Six feet in earth my Emma lay;
And yet I loved her more-
I e'er had loved before.
And turning from her grave, I met,
Beside the churchyard yew,
With points of morning dew.
Her brow was smooth and white :
It was a pure delight.
E'er tripped with foot so free;
That dances on the sea.
There came from me a sigh of pain
Which I could ill confine;
And did not wish her mine !"
Matthew is in his grave, yet now
Methinks I see him stand
Of wilding in his hand.
We talked with open heart, and tongue
Affectionate and true, A pair of friends, though I was young,
And Matthew seventy-two.
We lay beneath a spreading oak,
Beside a mossy seat;
And gurgled at our feet.
“Now, Matthew,” said I, “let us match
This water's pleasant tune,
That suits a summer's noon.
Or of the church-clock and the chimes
Sing here beneath the shade,
Which you last April made.”
In silence Matthew lay, and eyed
The spring beneath the tree;
The gray-haired man of glee :
“No check, no stay, this streamlet fears;
How merrily it goes ! 'Twill murmur on a thousand years,
And flow as now it flows.
And here, on this delightful day,
I cannot choose but think How oft, a vigorous man, I lay
Beside this fountain's brink.
My eyes are dim with childish tears,
My heart is idly stirred,