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TO THE QUEEN.

Revered, beloved-O you that hold

A nobler office upon earth

Than arms, or power of brain, or birth Could give the warrior kings of old,

Victoria, since your Royal grace
To one of less desert allows

This laurel greener from the brows
Of him that utter'd nothing base;

And should your greatness, and the care
That yokes with empire, yield you time
To make demand of modern rhyme
If aught of ancient worth be there;

Then-while a sweeter music wakes,

And thro' wild March the throstle calls,
Where all about your palace-walls

The sun-lit almond-blossom shakes

VOL. I.

B

I

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