The kings and queens who having made that vow and worn that crown,

Descended unto lower thrones and darker, deep adown!

Dieu et mon droit — what is't to them? — what mean

ing can it have? —

The King of kings, the right of death- God's judgment and the grave.

And when betwixt the quick and dead, the young fair queen had vowed,

The living shouted "May she live! Victoria, live!” aloud.

And as the loyal shouts went up, true spirits prayed between,

"The blessings happy monarchs have, be thine, O crowned queen!"

But now before her people's face she bendeth hers

anew,

And calls them, while she vows, to be her witness thereunto.

She vowed to rule, and, in that oath, her childhood

put away.

She doth maintain her womanhood, in vowing love to-day.

O, lovely lady!- let her vow!-such lips become such vows,

And fairer goeth bridal wreath than crown with vernal brows.

O, lovely lady!— let her vow! yea, let her vow to love!

And though she be no less a queen - with purples

hung above,

The pageant of a court behind, the royal kin around, And woven gold to catch her looks turned maidenly to ground,

Yet may the bride-veil hide from her a little of that

state,

While loving hopes, for retinues, about her sweetness wait.

She vows to love who vowed to rule-(the chosen at her side)

Let none say, God preserve the queen! — but, rather, Bless the bride!

None blow the trump, none bend the knee, none violate the dream

Wherein no monarch but a wife, she to herself may

seem.

Or if ye say, Preserve the queen!-oh, breathe it

She is a woman, and beloved!—and 'tis enough but so. Count it enough, thou noble prince, who tak'st her by the hand,

And claimest for thy lady-love, our lady of the land!

And since, Prince Albert, men have called thy spirit high and rare,

And true to truth and brave for truth, as some at

Augsburg were,

We charge thee by thy lofty thoughts, and by thy poet-mind

Which not by glory and degree takes measure of man kind,

Esteem that wedded hand less dear for sceptre than for ring,

And hold her uncrowned womanhood to be the royal thing.

And now, upon our queen's last vow, what blessings shall we pray?

None, straitened to a shallow crown, will suit our lips to-day.

Behold, they must be free as love-they must be broad as free,

Even to the borders of heaven's light and earth's humanity.

Long live she!-send up loyal shouts - and true between

hearts pray

"The blessings happy peasants have, be thine, O crownèd queen

TO THE MEMORY OF PRINCE ALBERT

LORD TENNYSON

(From "Idylls of the King." Dedication)

PRINCE ALBERT died in 1861. He had been an ideal Prince Consort, greatly aiding the queen by advice and sympathy. His voice was always for peace and for such legislation as would better the lot of the poor.

These to His Memory since he held them dear,
Perchance as finding there unconsciously
Some image of himself — I dedicate,

I dedicate, I consecrate with tears

These Idylls.

And indeed He seems to me Scarce other than my own ideal knight, "Who reverenced his conscience as his king; Whose glory was, redressing human wrong; Who spake no slander, no, nor listen'd to it; Who loved one only and who clave to her Her - over all whose realms to their last isle, Commingled with the gloom of imminent war, The shadow of His loss moved like eclipse, Darkening the world. We have lost him he is gone: We know him now: all narrow jealousies Are silent; and we see him as he moved, How modest, kindly, all-accomplish'd, wise, With what sublime suppression of himself, And in what limits, and how tenderly; Not swaying to this faction or to that; Not making his high place the lawless perch Of wing'd ambitions, nor a vantage-ground For pleasure; but thro' all this tract of years Wearing the white flower of a blameless life, Before a thousand peering littlenesses, In that fierce light which beats upon a throne, And blackens every blot: for where is he, Who dares foreshadow for an only son A lovelier life, a more unstain'd, than his ? Or how should England dreaming of his sons Hope more for these than some inheritance Of such a life, a heart, a mind as thine,

Thou noble Father of her Kings to be,
Laborious for her people and her poor
Voice in the rich dawn of an ampler day —
Far-sighted summoner of War and Waste
To fruitful strifes and rivalries of peace -
Sweet nature gilded by the gracious gleam
Of letters, dear to Science, dear to Art,
Dear to thy land and ours, a Prince indeed,
Beyond all titles, and a household name,
Hereafter, thro' all times, Albert the Good.

Break not, O woman's heart, but still endure;
Break not, for thou art Royal, but endure,
Remembering all the beauty of that star
Which shone so close beside Thee, that ye made
One light together, but has past and left
The Crown of lonely splendour.

May all love,

His love, unseen but felt, o'ershadow Thee,
The love of all Thy sons encompass Thee,
The love of all Thy daughters cherish Thee,
The love of all Thy people comfort Thee,
Till God's love set Thee at his side again!