Poem by Arthur Weir

Ode for the Queen’s Jubilee

1837-1887

I

Sailor William is dead. And now
  Toll the great bells disconsolate.
    Let the maiden have time for tears
Ere you set on her gentle brow
  England's glittering crown of state.
    Heavy burden for eighteen years.
Grant the maiden some weeping space
Ere on her youthful brow you place
      England's crown.
Once her stately head it presses,
Fifty years it must rest on her tresses
      Till their brown
Turns to white beneath King Time's caresses--
      Grant her weeping space.

II.

  Set the crown on the maiden's brow,
    And silence the bells disconsolate.
  Peal! Ye loud joy-bells, now;
    Over city and wold let your echoes reverberate.
Peal! for the crowning of smiles and the death of tears,
Peal! for the crowning of hopes and the death of fears,
Peal! for a Queen who shall rule us for fifty years.
The maiden is crowned with her glorious crown,
    Heavy with care;
Yet it shall never burden her down
    Into despair.
We will watch over her with our love,
    And our loyalty prove.
      We will bear, each, his share
Of the worry, grief, and pain
That may seek to mar her reign.

III.

Blow! ye silvery bugles, over the sunny land,
  Our Queen has yielded to love.
Ring out with merry clangor, O ye bells!
Ye mountains! give the laughing bells reply.

Hark! how the joyous tumult sinks and swells,
  And beats against the sky
    In melody!
Mark how the billows of the mighty sea
Toss their white arms in glee,
  And race along the strand,
Joining their voices with the symphony!
  Our Queen has yielded to love.
    Blow! silvery bugles blow!
      That all may know.

IV.

Toll! toll! ye deep-mouthed bells,
  Answer! each thundering gun.
Your cadence sadly tells
  Of a great life-work done.
Death rules this changing earth,
  Through royal halls he stalks,
And with an awful mirth
  Man's noblest efforts mocks.
He stills the busy brain,
  Tears loving souls apart,
And leaves alone to reign

      A Queen with empty heart.
    Upon her lonely throne
      She sits, and ever weeps,
    For him who, once her own,
      Now wed to heaven sleeps.
Albert has fallen, conquered by Death's dart,
A shadow lies across her anguished heart.
She dwells in loneliness that none can gauge;
In grief that only heaven can assuage.
She trembles and her soul would fain depart,
And beats with tireless wings against its cage.
    Oh! live for us, dear Queen,
    Thou who for years hast been
    Our leader in all good,
    Live! Live for us, O Queen!

V.

Ring! ye loud bells, in deep, triumphal tone,
  And bind a zone
Around this earth of glorious melody,
  Till land and sea
Awaken and, rejoicing, answer ye.
Ah! noble Queen! who lookst around thee now
  On this great nation.
Thy life, since first the circlet touched thy brow,
  Was consecration
Of self to us. Through half a century
From darkness into light we followed thee.
The poet, patriot, warrior, statesman, sage
  Have given thee service long,
Lending their fiery youth and thoughtful age
  To make thy sceptre strong,
And in the never-ending march of man
To higher things, still England leads the van.

VI.

In fifty years what change! The world is bound
  In close communion, and a sentence flies
O'er half the earth ere yet the voice's sound
  Upon the calm air dies.
Behold at England's feet her offspring pour
  Their bounteous store;
To her each yields
  The first fruits of its virgin fields;
Each country throws
  Its hospitable portals open wide
To the great tide
That from the dense-thronged mother country flows.
  New homes arise
By rivers once unknown, among whose reeds
The wild fowl fed, but now no longer dwells.
  No more the bison feeds
Upon the prairie, for the once drear plain
Laughs in the sun and waves its golden grain.
  By a slender chain
Ocean is linked to ocean, and the hum
Of labor in the wilderness foretells
The greatness of a nation yet to come.
  In Southern seas
Another nation grows by slow degrees,
In dreamy India, under tropic sun,
Two hundred millions own an Empress' sway,
  And day by day.
  New territories won
Shed lustre on our Queen's half century.

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5. A January Day

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