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PO E MS.

(PUBLISHED 1830.)

TO THE QUEEN.

R

EVERED, 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

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,

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