HILL AND VALLEY HE. COME, let us climb to the height, Co Peak after peak in the sun, As the rays brighten, grow rosy and lighten, Now that the thunder has done." SHE. "Nay; through the leafage, the light See through the valley the rivulets sally, HE. "Grandly, ah! grandly the hill Broke the black storm on its crest; All the cliff under went leaping the thunder, Growling away in the west." SHE. "Here it is restful and still; Only the drops from the trees, Where the shades darkle, fall slowly and sparkle, Here there is solace and ease." HE. "Child, but the eagle above, Now that the mists are withdrawn, Never wing-weary, sails up from his eyrie, E'en to the eye of the dawn." SHE. "Ah, but below us the dove, Crooning for joy on the nest, Fills with soft slumber the leaves without number; Shadow and quiet are best." A BALLAD OF THE QUEEN'S (JUNE 22, 1897) NAME that has been thy nation's shield On many an alien shore and sea; Name that in many a fateful field Has taught the stubborn foe to flee; Promise and proof of virtues three, Valour unvaunting, vigour, verve, We hail thy white-winged Sovereignty, VICTORIA! WHOM GOD PRESERVE! Monarchs there are to whom men yield Obeisance-in a bondman's key; Monarchs whose sceptred might doth wield Only the rod of Tyranny; We, in free homage, being free,— We joy that naught can shake or curve Thy rectitude of Royalty, VICTORIA! WHOM GOD PRESERVE! Therefore from all our towers be pealed For surely not to-day shall we From sixty years' allegiance swerve, Or shame thy twice-told Jubilee, VICTORIA! WHOM GOD PRESERVE! ENVOY. QUEEN!-to whom true men bend the knee, Our island heart and brain and nerve Are loyal-loyal unto thee, 1897. VICTORIA! WHOM GOD PRESERVE! TO A FRIEND (ON RECEIVING HIS "COMPLETE POEMS") NOT yet "complete," old Friend, not yet! What Imp of the Perverse could set That fateful epithet before A reader who must wish for more! "Complete,” in truth, each piece may be Complete as are the stones that gem But who of men shall so forecast His latest as to call it last? Or, if he make an end, be sure 'Tis not profanely premature? None. For while yet we breathe and speak, The Unachieved is still to seek; Nor may the quest relax while Hope 1909. |