To make it blessed but from end to end
Of her vast Empire, a Tradition, twined
About our hearts from earliest infant years ;
An Influence we felt when Right prevailed
Over the blackness of enshrouded spheres ;
A Hope we turn'd to when all others failed
And died in darkness ! Greater deeds were
wrought
By reason of her greatness ; greater good
Grew of her proven goodness ! Soldiers fought
More bravely, knowing that they shed their
blood
To drive the foe from lands that own'd her sway
Or plant her standard under alien stars,
And shipwreck'd sailors, watching the last ray
Of daylight sink below the Ocean-bars,
Have pray'd for her ; while in the loneliness
Of desert-solitudes, beyond our ken,
The "Great White Queen" has been evoked
to bless
The lower lives of simple savage men
Who knew her only as an honoured name,
Half Human, half Divine the type of all
They sought for in their gods, and fed with flame
VIOLET FANE 145
Upon their altars ! Can the velvet pall
That covers what is mortal hide away
For evermore and stifle in its folds
The light that liv'd because she saw the day,
Or quench in darkness what her memory
holds ?
Here, whilst her crape-bound banner beats the air,
And each sad hour some sadder record brings,
Our hearts determine she shall never share
The cold companionship of vanished Kings ;
What in her England, tho' the great bell toll
And all the world go sable-garmented ?
Save to the earth-born travail of the soul,
She that a Nation mourns for is not dead !
VIOLET FANE.
BRITISH EMBASSY, ROME.
LX.
WE crowned her first, long years ago,
In her fair girlhood's days,
When all the vistas of the years
Opened in sunny ways,
And all her people sang her name
In paeans of glad praise.
K
146 MARIANNE FARNINGHAM
Love crowned her with the sweetest crown
Ever a Queen could wear,
And dear became her royal state
Because her Love might share.
And life was radiant with high hopes
And beautiful through prayer.
Then Sorrow crowned her all too soon,
And bade her work and wait,
While Duty took the place of Joy,
And Care moved with her state.
But it was Sorrow's crown, perhaps,
Made her most truly great.
More heavy grew the royal crown
With added weight of years ;
She always wore it bravely, though
Oft sad through loss and fears.
But the love of all her people made
Her comfort in her tears.
We crowned her with the noblest crown
Along the dolorous way,
When all the peoples of the world
Mourned with us night and day
Ah, Queen revered, for ever Queen,
How mighty is thy sway !
BARRY PAIN 147
And God has crowned her, victor now,
On high, among the blest ;
His hand has placed upon her brow
The dearest and the best
The crown of life that will not fade,
His crown of peace and rest.
MARIANNE FARNINGHAM.
LXI.
OUR Queen, ere her dear life's eclipse
And well, aye, well that this was so !
Touched this New Century with her lips,
And blest it ere she let it go.
O better dawn these hundred years
For that brief presence at their birth !
With higher hopes, with fewer fears,
Spins with its struggling swarm this earth
Because her great tradition stands,
Her strong ensample cannot die,
But from this isle o'er many lands
Shines with white light her memory.
148 VICTORIA IMMORTALIS
And Death that would all things o'ercast,
Dares not approach her snowy fame :
Thine is the victory at last,
Victoria, predestined name !
Above the peal of muffled bells,
And vain lament, and women's wails,
Ice-keen with poignant triumph swells :
" The good prevails ! The good prevails ! "
The trumpets of the nations call
With one consent, with one accord :
" For her great life to guide us all
We bless and praise Thy name, O Lord ! "
Not vain the burden of her years
That win such glory at their close ;
Not vain her labours and her tears
That end in such revered repose.
These hundred years shall come and die,
Lit by thy life as some pure flame ;
Thine is the deathless victory,
Victoria, predestined name !
BARRY PAIN.
LORD BURGHCLERE 149
LXII.
Viciovia fyt rrai.
How shall we set Her story to a lute
Whose cadence thrilled the music of mankind,
Whose glory dims all pageantry of praise ?
She wore the diadem of countless kings,
She grasped the Imperial orb of myriad realms,
She swayed the sceptre of unbounded seas,
Sovereign of Sovereigns, very Queen of Queens.
Yet in the zenith of exalted days
She used such sweet and stately homeliness,
Such tender majesty of womanhood,
As shone far Queenlier than Her Queenly
crowns.
So with a grandeur unsurpassed She reigned,
So with a grandeur unsurpassed She died
Robed in the simple splendour of Her life.
BURGHCLERE.
150 QUEEN WILL COME NAE MAIR
LXIH.
or Quffit toill romr me mail.
As I gaed up the Braes o' Dee,
The birdies sang on ilka tree,
An' aye their burden was Waes me !
Oor Queen will come nae mair.
Ye Hielan' bodies hear the ca',
Aroun' your peat fires sadly draw,
An' croon wi' mournfu' voices a'
Oor Queen will come nae mair.
Ye Hielan' hills that kiss the sky,
Ye rocks that on their bosoms lie,
Weel may ye sab, and greetin' sigh
Oor Queen will come nae mair.
Ye heather-bells shed tears aroun',
Ye oaks an' firs your heids boo doon,
An' listen to the waefu' soun'
Oor Queen will come nae mair.
WILLIAM ALLAN, M.P. 151
Ye streams an' rills, Oh ! quat your glee,
Join in the dirge o' dool sae hie
That rises frae the silvery Dee
Oor Queen will come nae mair.
Ye win's that roun' Balmoral sweep
Ower ilka turret, tower, an' keep,
Moan nicht an' day wi' sorrow deep
Oor Queen will come nae mair.
Frae Aberdeen to Lochnagar,
Frae glens an' corries roun' Braemar,
This cry o' Grief is heard afar
Oor Queen will come nae mair.
Ye clansmen sing Ochone the day !
Ye pipers frae the hill an' brae,
This coronach ye a' maun play
" Oor Queen will come nae mair."
Mourn, Scotland ! Mourn ! ye've tint a freen,
Weel may ye keep her memory green,
An' ever say wi' tearfu' een
Oor Queen will come nae mair !
WILLIAM ALLAN.
152 THREE SCENES
LXIV.
5-rrnrss.
I.
LOCH KATRINE 1859.
I SAW her in the flush of Womanhood ;
And him, her Consort, in his Princely prime :
The rain-clouds passing, lo ! a balmy clime
Shone round them, 'mid the mountains where
they stood
And we, the pilgrims, shared that heavenly mood.
As gleamed the hills with glory for a time,
Stepped forth the Queen vision of joy and good,
Moving like music in Shakespearian rhyme.
Then did she take a tiny golden key
Wherewith to free the spirit of the Lake
That rushed delighted from the moorland down
With floods of healing, strength, and purity.
How proud the Queen that, for her people's sake,
She so could send salvation to the town.
II.
WINDSOR 1860-1900.
That blessed act was symbol of her Reign :
For she was crowned with Mercy, Wisdom-led,
WILLIAM FREELAND 153
Before Crown-gems illumed her Royal head,
Or ere she knew how pride and pomp were vain,
And darkened life with many a woe and stain
That ruined splendid Monarchies, long dead.
To her was given sweet sanity of brain ;
From her it flowered, and o'er the nations spread
In cloudless visions of right deed and wrong
In shaping of great conduct from pure thought,
In guiding reason to a god-like vow,
In tuning passion to heroic song.
Long glorious years her people's weal she sought,
The bloom of righteous empire on her brow !
III.
OSBORNE IQOI.
Peace ! Peace ! Our Sovereign-Lady silent lies ;
Not dead to love like ours but living still
In armed affection and in steadfast will,
Whereon best thrones are based against surprise.
She sleeps, our Mighty Mother ; but her eyes,
Though shaded from all human shows of ill,
Behold the glories of diviner skies,
Where her dear purposes themselves fulfil.
And thou who, losing Queen, hast gained a
Crown
No heritable splendour of wild sire
iS4 WILLIAM TOYNBEE
But noblest, grandest ever fell to man,
Unsullied by a deed to mar renown,
Be wise, O King, as if when purged by fire,
Be great in reigning by Victoria's plan !
WILLIAM FREELAND.
LXV.
n 2&r qut'tal*
" Hsec olim meminisse juvabit."
WE took Thee once amiss, but nevermore
Between us cloud or shadow shall arise,
For Thou hast proved, not merely by the guise
And praise of amity, but from the core
Of a true heart that, setting sacred store
On bonds more close than State-concerted ties
Thou canst efface all darker memories,
And seek with kindred tears our teen-struck
shore.
Wherefore, be England's fortune what it may,
Never this grace of Thine shall she forget,
Nor suffer in her bosom to grow grey
The golden gratitude that is her debt
To Thee and Thine, not only for to-day,
But for far-distant years undreamed of yet.
WILLIAM TOYNBEE.
A. ST JOHN ADCOCK 155
LXVI.
Ett ifUmortam,
LOVED by all who owned her sway,
Loved as Mother, Queen, and Wife ;
In the homeland, or away
'Mid her farthest subjects, they
That had never looked upon her,
Dear, revered and held in honour,
Happy, she, in life !
Great in life beyond compare,
Queenly to her latest breath,
Sorrows of her own she bare,
Yet she bore her people's care ;
Just and gracious, sweet and stately,
Living nobly, dying greatly,
Happy, she, in death !
Peace be with her evermore,
All her long life's labour done,
All the cares of Empire o'er,
Peace be with her evermore !
Yet her Influence moulds and stays us,
Dying, still she lives and sways us,
Happy in her son !
A. ST JOHN ADCOCK.
156 FAREWELL
LXVII.
JFa vr to* U !
FAREWELL the Queen ! Through all the world's
mutations
Through all the change wrought from its
hopes or fears
The one thing constant 'midst our transforma-
tions,
True to herself and us for sixty years.
True to the crown ! Placed high above ambi-
tions
That flatter for a while and then chain
down
The people's check upon the politicians
Our greatest democrat True to the Crown !
Farewell the Empress of the fair dominion
Our fathers fought and bled for in the time
When glory was not merely an opinion,
And empire not a folly or a crime !
Farewell the Empress! Not her fault all
know it
If traitors sought the record to undo ;
Our fame was hers, not lightly to forego it
Farewell our Empress and first patriot, too !
A. CLEMENTS BAKER
Farewell the wife, the mother, tender, loyal,
In those bright days bygone when all saw
joy!
Not less the woman in that heyday royal ;
Not less the Queen when sorrow brought
alloy.
Shall we who shared the sunshine blame the
sadness ?
Who could have borne more nobly fate so
hard?
For England first, either in grief or gladness,
We felt that she was there our Queen on
guard.
Who loves the land, the dear old land that bore
us
Who holds her honour as no party scheme
Who fain would front whatever lies before us,
From foes who plot or fools who only dream
Who loves his country for the past a debtor,
And doubtful for the future dark, unknown
Will join the chorus where could we do
better ?
"Long may Victoria's memory guide the
Throne ! "
A. CLEMENTS BAKER.
158 A NATION MOURNS
LXVIII.
& Ration fHouvns.
A NATION mourns. And stoop in woe
Her children o'er the seas afar,
One with us in the tears that flow
As one in peace or pomp of war.
One pulse, one heart, that throb and beat,
One subtle, silent, mystic flood
That streams from fount of common blood,
And made them gather at thy feet.
For thou wert mother, friend, and Queen
Of all that strong, repressless race,
Who scorn the seas that intervene
Unconquered still by time or place.
Oh, Queen, revered ! whose heart so true
Beat only for thy people's good,
We bow in grief's keen bitter mood,
Though Death we well relentless knew.
JAMES WALSH 159
Yet thought we not that we would see
Day dawn that found thee cold and wan ;
Nor deemed we that apart from thee
Our lives would run their little span.
For with thy name familiar grown,
That with the years but dearer grew,
No shadow o'er our path was thrown
We crowned thee thus immortal too.
In queenly truth and grace ensphered,
Thy life shines through the mist of years ;
Far off or nigh there still appears
The splendour that to us endeared
Thy name, oh Queen ; so loved of all
Who virtue held the jewel rare,
That brightest flashed in coronal
Of worth that Time can ne'er impair.
So good, so pure, so richly rife
In all that graced sweet womanhood ;
One with us in the ill or good,
In woe or mirth, in peace or strife.
Thus bow we now, not head alone,
But heart, that pays a homage true,
160 A NATION MOURNS
And mingles with the stifled moan
The thanks that still to God are due.
For thou to us a gift wert made
By Him Who ruleth over all
A gift whose worth whate'er befall
Shall never from our hearts outfade.
But not alone we mourn, bereft ;
A whole world's sorrow centres here ;
And though Death's barb our joy has cleft,
Love's universal meeds appear.
Farewell ! oh Queen ! now sweetly rest,
Where oft thy yearning spirit went
By him whose soul with thine was blent,
In youth and age, thy loved and best.
JAMES WALSH.
FLORENCE G. ATTENBOROUGH 161
LXIX.
I.
OUT of the Dusk She stole to meet a Star
(Sing softly, heart, thine Empress is asleep),
The melody of bygones, travelled far,
Bade Her go forth, be after it, and keep
No young new note to crown the regal tone
Which God, and Love, and Time, had made
Her own.
II.
Now we are dumb, as when the Music stays,
And a last chord is sounded, and a hush
Falls in some vast Cathedral, whilst a haze
Of golden light which, mellowed from the flush
Of late meridian, sweeps the aisles, and holds
Our vision prisoned in illusive folds.
III.
And we are blind, as when a sudden 'sense
Of glory, missed but now, mocks all the
shade,
And stars it with a beautiful, intense
L
1 62 QUEEN BEYOND COMPARE
Amaze of colour, dazzling ere it fade
Into the ether of remembrance, spread
Like rare aroma, or a ripe rose, dead.
IV.
Yea, we are dumb, and blinded in this hour
That breathes for us the sadness of farewell ;
We only see the afterglow of pow'r,
The splendid lights which challenge England's
knell :
We only speak in whispers, whilst the roll
Of mingled thunders mounts with Her White
Soul.
V.
So long that Summer was which had its shade
(Sigh softly, heart, thine Empress slumbers
still) ;
She saw so many blossoms group and fade,
So many sunsets drop behind the hill ;
So many dawns steal up to greet Her Crown,
And light its jewels with a pure renown.
VI.
Stern Winter touched Her not, its thick'ning
snows
Left but a glint of silver on Her brow,
As when a frosty moon in radiance throws
FLORENCE G. ATTENBOROUGH 163
A lucent shaft upon a chosen bough ;
No dead leaf marked the garland of Her grace,
Where Love and Honour held the choicest
place.
VII.
Within the garden of the Earth's great kings
She ruled a Queen, outsplendoured them and
swayed
The destinies of millions, as with wings
Which, but unfolding, warmed the world, and
made
The peoples proud to gather, and be strong
To succour goodness, and to vanquish wrong.
VIII.
Shall She have only the cold white of bloom
About Her heart as tribute of Her years ?
We do not ask the Minstrel of the gloom
To voice for us the Sorrow of the Spheres ;
Let us not leave Her, decked with lilies rare,
To say we knew Her, Queen beyond compare.
IX.
Nay ! Give Her rather of the fruited corn,
And lay a wheat-sheaf clustered at Her side ;
For, where are lilies to survive the morn ?
1 64 QUEEN BEYOND COMPARE
The white rose now half falters in its pride j
Give her the ripened harvest of Her God,
A lasting pledge, grown golden o'er the sod.
X.
Yea, group the rounded grapes about Her feet
With purple vesture for this last "Good-
Night";
The crimson gloams are beautiful, and sweet,
That bode fair weather with to-morrow's light :
Let us so soothe our pain, and dream She knows
Eternal Spring where Her loosed spirit goes.
XI.
Farewell to Thee, oh, Thou Dead Queen of ours
(Beat gently, heart, perchance They Two have
met) ;
Thou hast spent well Thy plenitude of pow'rs,
And we remember never to forget ;
Take Thou Thy guerdon, Nourisher of Kings,
A world laments Thee, but a Heaven sings.
FLORENCE G. ATTENBOROUGH.
ALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES 165
LXX.
JUST between the day and dark,
O'er the green of the glimmering Park,
Lost in heaven, one lonely lark
Poured his passion silvery pure ;
Till the long, sweet shivering strain
Took, methought, this meaning plain,
As I turned with tears again
Through the leafless Cool-kellure.
How we prayed and prayed of old,
Blackbird - with the crest of gold,
That you'd cross the waters cold
Erin's sorrows at last to cure.
But you sought and sought in vain
Succour out of France and Spain,
None would help you here to reign
Over our leafy Cool-kellure.
1 The green retreat in the Phoenix Park where the
Queen spent the whole of her last Irish visit may well be
called the Cool-kellure, or " The Corner of the warbling
of birds."
a The Old Pretender was called "The Blackbird"
by the Irish Jacobites.
166 IN DUBLIN
Yet that Rover far above
Sure we rank the Royal Dove
Who, for gallant Erin's love,
Wreathing with shamrock her bosom pure,
O'er the dreadful flood's decrease
Fluttered with its spray of peace
To her bower of blessed ease
In our branching Cool-kellure.
There, the budding boughs between,
Since her gra was for the Green,
Stayed and stayed our loving Queen
Till She had all our hearts secure.
Ah, but now we go in black,
For She's took the Heavenly track,
Never, never to turn back
Under the leafy Cool-kellure.
ALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES.
LXXI.
Kit 39ttfclfn*
I. APRIL 4, 1900.
THE Mother of her people goes
Down the long streets all snow and rose ;
Houses on either hand
Gowned like an April orchard stand.
KATHARINE TYNAN 167
Sideways she sits and droops and hears
The nation's thunder in her ears,
And bows a patient head,
Tired as the child we put to bed.
Yet as a mother takes with joy
Rough loving from her lusty boy,
She spares rebuke and smiles
All the long progress, miles on miles.
Strew roses, roses in her way,
And make the world high holiday.
All pomp and splendour meet
With music in th' embannered street.
An hundred thousand eyes at gaze,
Hungry to see her kind dim face.
Queen of a world so great
O'er it the round sun may not set.
Sunk in her cushions and so tired,
Ave ! Beloved and Desired !
Who for a while would rest
Her head upon her people's breast.
KATHARINE TYNAN,
168 IN DUBLIN
II. JANUARY 22, 1901. l
When the word was flashed to Dublin that the
Queen was dead
"Shure 'twill be a world-wide sorra!" all the
grand folk said ;
Till St Patrick's great bell hushed them, tollin',
tollin' solemnly.
But a wee boy at the corner, sorra word said he ;
Not a shoe or stockin' on him, through the mud
he wint
To the flower-girl was nighest, and wan coin he
spint ;
Not a shoe or stockin' on him, through the mud
he came
Softly, sadly, laid his "vi'lets" on the dead
Queen's name.
An' if / were Queen of England wid the Cross
on me cold breast,
Though the poets sang their sweetest, and the
big guns roared their best,
1 The incident thus happily commemorated was re-
ported in the Press at the time. A little newsboy in
Dublin was seen to go up to a flower-girl, and buying a
bunch of violets from her he pinned them over the word
" Queen " on his contents bill. ED.
ELIZABETH M. LITTLE 169
I would better love those "vi'lets" bought
though sorra word was said
When the news was flashed to Dublin that the
Queen was dead.
ELIZABETH MARY LITTLE.
LXXII.
(Written for a United Free Church Memorial Service.)
ALMIGHTY GOD, by whose kind hand
Our nation from the dust emerged,
And of its earlier mire was purged,
In Thee we live, by Thee we stand.
Thy strong right arm our strength has been,
Pillar of cloud by day wast Thou,
And in the night when brave hearts bow,
Pillar of fire Thy Love was seen.
For all Thy gifts we thank Thee, Lord,
For centuries of growing light,
For faith which left behind the night
That error massed about Thy Word :
170 A HYMN
For freedom's love, for healthful laws,
For men who fought and men who died,
Were exiled, yet with passion vied
Each best to serve his country's Cause.
And yet for none we thank Thee more
Than this, that England's throne has been
For sixty years, by one loved Queen,
Held as a gift from high Heaven's store.
For all her virtues, and her life
Of faithful labour, ardent zeal
To serve Thee and the common weal,
Through storm and sunshine, calm and strife,
For all her wisdom, counsels, strength,
Espoused to righteousness and peace,
Her strenuous toil for faith's increase,
We praise Thee, Lord, who now at length,
In good old age, by all men blest,
Hast taken her who won our love,
To that fair heavenly home above,
Where in Thy splendid light is rest.
She was Thy gift to our dear land,
May English peoples ne'er forget
The Queen whose throne for God was set,
And in her God be strong and stand,
HAROLD E. BRIERLEY 171
And may our Isle, the fair and free,
Her princes, rulers, subjects all
Responding to Thy gracious call,
By righteousness exalted be.
HAROLD E. BRIERLEY.
LXXIII.
Firtorfa
SHE rests in peace,
The monarch wearied with a nation's cares :
All troubles cease
Within the Glory which through Christ she
shares.
For us she spent
Herself, her time, her talents yea, her all ;
And since she went,
Our tears, for very loneliness, must fall.
So great a Queen !
So good a mother ! pitiful and pure ;
Of judgment keen,
And ready, though she suffered, to endure.
172 VICTORIA REGINA
Most knew her worth,
And loved her in proportion as they knew :
Her place on earth
Was that accorded but to chosen few.
God gave her rank,
He gave her also strength for all her need ;
And Him we thank
For such a life, immortalised indeed !
On Him we lean,
In this our nation's bitter, sorest grief;
We mourn our Queen,
And God, ay, God alone, can send relief.
To Him we pray
For her loved son, who now her place doth
take :
Our King to-day,
Who seeks to wisely rule, for her dear sake.
With her 'tis well
A higher Court doth claim our Sovereign
now;
And who can tell
What everlasting honours wreathe her brow ?
CHARLOTTE MURRAY 173
Her life-work o'er,
At Jesus' feet she lays her sceptre down,
To know no more
The heavy burden of an earthly crown.
CHARLOTTE MURRAY.
LXXIV.
a Qottblr (Crotom
A DOUBLE crown was given thee to wear,
And on thy noble brow
With equal lustre thou didst either bear,
True queen, true woman thou.
We ofttimes murmur at our troubled fate,
But thou for sixty years
Faced with unflinching front the cares of State,
And shared a nation's tears.
We 'neath our little burdens sigh and groan,
But thou, as Britain's Queen,
Bore all the burden of an Empire's throne
With calm undaunted mien.
174 NORLEY CHESTER
All have the common sorrows of mankind,
And thine, great Queen, were more ;
And yet a place thy heart could always find
For those thy people bore.
Oh ! Woman-Queen, Queen- Woman, well thy
part
Deserveth more than fame,
The tears which from most sacred sources start,
The grief our dearest claim ;
The monument of eager heart and will,
Where'er our flag is set,
To prove thy high example guiding still,
And thee as reigning yet.
NORLEY CHESTER.
LXXV.
antr (Qttrrn, JFawtoeU!
MOTHER and Queen, farewell !
Thy sorrowing children say :
Wide were thy realms, but who may tell
The hearts that owned thy sway ?
W. H. GROSER 175
Rest ! life's long journey done,
The path so nobly trod ;
Faithful, from dawn till set of sun,
To duty and to God.
Rest from the ceaseless weight
Of Empire's whelming care ;
The loneliness of sceptred state,
No kindred heart may share.
Rest from thy silent tears,
O tender heart and true ;
The griefs that dimmed thy vista'd years
No self-bound limits knew.
Where pain and want were known
Thy love and pity smiled,
And turn'd, from pageants of a throne,
To bless the lowliest child.
Mother and Friend and Queen,
We thank our God for thee,
Praising for all that thou hast been
And all thou yet shalt be.
Where'er thy sons shall claim
On earth's broad fields a home,
The peaceful lustre of thy name
Shall light the years to come.
176 WORKING MAN'S TRIBUTE
In life o'erflowing, free,
In service yet more blest,