SOME JUBILEE VERSE.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XIX, Issue X, 28 August 1897, Page 292

SOME JUBILEE VERSE.

f statistical genius who enables our poor minds ,1 to grasp the magnitudes of modern things by expressing them by homely similes has apparently not yet had time to calculate the hundredweights of paper and the gallons of ink which were used up in the composition of Jubilee verse. From the quantity the editor of The Graphic has passed through his hands —the work of New Zealanders alone—he would be afraid to estimate the sum total of what has been written, and often unwisely published, or more wisely consigned to the waste paper basket. We give below some samples of the Imperial muse, beginning with the Laureate’s poem, which for all that has been said to the contrary is perhaps the best of a rather mediocre batch:— VICTORIA. June 20, 1837. June 20, 1897. The lark went up, the mower whet his scythe, On golden meads kine Ruminating lay, And all the world felt young again and blithe. Just as to-day. 11. The partridge shook her covey from her wings, And limped along the grass ; on leaf and lawn Shimmered the dew, and every throat that sings Chanted the dawn. ill. The doe was followed by her new-dropped fawn, And, folding all her feathers on her breast, The swan within the reedmace deep withdrawn Dreamed on her nest. IV. In the green wheat the poppy burst aflame, Wildrose and woodbine garlanded the glade, And, twin with maiden Summer, forth there came A summer Maid. Her face was the as the face of mid-June when Blossoms the meadowsweet, the bindweed blows • Pale as a lily first She blenched, and then Blushed like a rose. VI. They placed a Crown upon her fair young brow, They put a Sceptre in her girlish hand, ’ Saying, ‘ Behold ! you are Sovereign Lady now Of this great Land !’ VII. Silent She gazed, as one who doth not know The meaning of a message. When she broke The hush of awe around her, ’twas as though Her soul that spoke. VIII. * With this dread summons, since ’tis Heaven’s decree I would not palter, even if I could ; But, being a woman only, I can be Not great, but good. IX. ‘.I cannot .don the breastplate and the helm, To my weak waist the sword I cannot gird, Nor in the discords that distract a Realm Be seen or heard. x. * But in my People’s wisdom will I share, And in their valour play a helpful part, Lending them still, in all they do or dare, My woman’s heart. XI. ‘ And haply it may be that, by God’s grace, And unarmed Love’s invulnerable might, I may, though woman, lead a manly race To higher height; XII. * If wise will curb disorderly desire, The Present hold the parent Past in awe, Religion hallowing with its sacred fire Freedom and Law. XIII. •Never be broken, long as I shall reign, The solemn covenant ’twixt them and me, To keep this Kingdom, moated by the main, Loyal yet free. ’ XIV. Thus with grave utterance.and majestic mien She with her eighteen summers filled the Throne Where Alfred sate ; a girl, withal a Queen, Aloft, alone! xv. But Love that hath the power to force apart The bolts and baulk the sentinels of Kings, Came o’er the sea, and in her April heart Folded his wings. XVI. Thenceforth more dear than diadem She owned A princely helpmate, sharer in her trust, If not her Sceptre : —since, withal, enthroned By Time the just.

XVII. Scorner of wrong, and lover of the right, Compounded all of nobleness he seemed, And was indeed the perfect gentle Knight The poet dreamed. XVIII. So when the storm of wrath arose that drave Scared Rnlers from their realms, Her Throne, deep laid In liberty and trust, calm shelter gave To Kings dismayed. XIX. And stronger grew the bond of love and grace Betwixt her and her people, while that She Reigned the glad Mother of a Royal race, Rulers to be. xx. But Death that deepens love in darkening life Turned to a pall the purple of her Throne. Then, more than once the maid, the widowed wife Reigned all alone! XXI. * Leave me a while to linger with the dead,’ Weeping, she sued. * But doubt not that I still Am nuptialled to my people, and have wed Their deathless will. XXII. •Their thoughts shall be my thought® , their aim my aim. Their free-lent loyalty my right divine ; Mine will I make their triumphs, mine their fame, Their sorrows mine. XXIII. ‘ And I will be the bond to link them all In patriot purpose till my days be done, So that, in mind and might, whate’er befall, They still keep One.’ XXIV. Then to the winds yet wider was unfurled The Flag that tyrants never could enslave, Till its strong wisdom governed half the world, And all the wave! xxv. And, panoplied alike for War or Peace, Victoria’s England furroweth still the foam, To harvest Empire, wiser than was Greece, Wider than Rome ! XXVI. Therefore with glowing hearts and proud glad tears, The children of her Island Realm to-day Recall her sixty venerable years Of virtuous sway. XXVII. Now too from where Saint-Lawrence winds adown ’Twixt forest felled and plains that feel the plough, And Ganges jewels the Imperial Crown That girds her brow : XXVIII. From Afric’s Cape, where loyal watchdogs bark, And Britain’s Sceptre ne’er shall be withdrawn, And that young Continent that greets the dark When we the dawn ; XXIX. From steel-capped promontories stern and strong, And lone isles mounting guard upon the main, Hither her subjects wend to hail her long Resplendent Reign. XXX. And ever when mid June’s musk-roses blow, Our Race will celebrate Victoria’s name, And even England’s greatness gain a glow From Her pure fame. Alfred Austin. IO TRIUMPHE I England, Mother of Nations, bids her children rejoice, Hark ! from the ends of the earth peals forth their answering voice : * Severed by shadowy mountains, and many a sounding sea, One in race and language, and one in heart are we.’ Queen that has borne the weight of the crown from girlhood’s days, Winning the love of thy people, winning the whole earth’s praise, Each of the sixty years is a year of Jubilee, Sun breaking in on the darkness, wrong righted, the slave set free. Thank we the Giver of all good things who gave us Thee Thou hast wept with those that weep, and thy heart has throbbed with pride, At each tale of derring do ; the wild Balaclava ride, Lucknow’s Lawrence, Delhi's Nicholson, Gordon’s fall, England’s heroes ! long were the count to name them all. Champions of England, worthy of her, and worthy of Thee. Wilson’s troopers at bay on the far Shangani strand, Praised by their savage foe, who told how hand in hand. Spent by the hopeless fight, but with still nndaunted mien, They rose and sang as they died : * God save our Gracious Queen!’

Champions of England, worthy of her, and worthy of Thee. Soldiers ranged in their ranks on the ‘Birkenhead’*’ reeling deck, Watching the ravening monsters swarming round the wreck, Where shall we match their story ? Talk not of days of old ! These are the deeds of onr brothers to day, to be writ in gold, Champions of England, worthy of her, and worthy of Thee. Shaftesbury’s long life given that children no longer pine. Dazed by the whirring wheels, dnlled in the gloom of the mine ; Cobden who fed the poor ; toilers with heart and brain. Doctor and nurse, and preacher, fighting squalor and pain. Workers for England, worthy of her, and worthy of Thee. Thou hast trodden the paths of greatness, thy robe unspotted still, Thou bast tasted life's cup of blessing, hast tasted life’s cup of ill, Filled with the praise of thy name the sixty years have been, Scarce we know if we honour thee more as Woman or Queen, Thank we the Giver of all good things who gave us Thee. Large is our hope that the riddle of earth may yet be read, Misery, vice, and crime be seared on each hydra head. And life be brightened for all, and man to man be true. And clouds be rifted apart, and the smile of God shine through, Thank we the Giver of'all good things who gave us Thee. H. F. Rawnesley.

JUNE 22, 1897—AN ODE.

Rejoice ! give thanks for all the centuries Since first our little island’s crescent story, A feeble radiance, woke the waning skies To rise in full-orbed glory. Twelve centuries ago our Britain rose, Girt round by watchful foes, And did prevail at last such power in valour lies, Such force the brain, the arm of Freedom fires, Such lofty thought her soul inspires. Hers were the faults, the virtues of the Strong, The passionate love of Right, the burning hate of Wrong, Warped sometimes by her too imperious will To thoughts, to deeds of ill ; But hearing still, through all, the voice of Fate Proclaim ‘ Thou shalt be great!’

Mixed is the journey of a nation’s life, Through frowning mountain-pass and flowery plain, Through peaceful halcyon days, rude storms of civil strife, Brief pleasure, longer pain. But not in vain has our dear Britain been. Oh, gracious Island-Queen, Mother of freemen I over all the earth Thy Empire-children come to birth. Vast continents are thine, or sprung from thee, Brave island-fortress of the storm-vext sea ! The giant commonwealths which sway the W’est Were nourished at thy breast; The fair grown sisters of the Austral main That hold the South in fee Are thine, and love thy laws and speak thy tongue ; The dusky millions of thy fabulous East— Dim empires older than the dawn of Time — Thy crescent realm on Afric’s peopled shore, The white man’s grave no more, Ruled by just laws, and learning to grow free, Rejoice, by tby Britannic Peace increased. Thy praise is by a myriad voices sung ; Thou tread’st alone thy onward path sublime ; Thou hast not been in vain !

Great Empire ! those who come to-day from far, Seeking some symbol of our common love, Know through their souls Imperial pulses move, Following, as did the Magi once, the Star Of this new birth of Time, this happy reign. Ne’er in our Crowned Republic’s story yet, Of all that men remember or forget, This strange, this precious thing has been ; No reign of threescore years of King or Queen Our annals hold—till in this waning age Time’s finger writes it on the storied page. This is the golden link which binds in one All British hearts beneath the circling Sun, And this the Star which draws all, far and near. This aged life and dear !

Ah, honoured, thin-drawn life! who long hast borne, From that far June, when with the earliest morn The young girl woke, with tears And innocent childish fears To bear the burden of the Imperial Crown, Her young, her aged temples pressing down ; Who, threescore years throned in the nation’s heart, Of all its joys and sorrows barest part, Sharing tby people's humbler hopes and fears And oft directing through a mist of tears Our difficult way. So fragile, yet so strong ! Thou seemest to our ej es Our own embodied Britain, old yet young : Not the rude Britain of her arrogant youth. But loving peace and filled with gentle ruth, The Britain her undying bards have sung; Our lives are bound with thine, our hopes with thee ; Thy subjects all and loyal lovers, we Come from the North, the South, the East, the West ;

From the acclaiming lands beyond the foam, Seeking their ancient unforgotten home, Differing in race and tongne. and creed and name— Senators, soldiers, rulers great in fame. Thy proud Proconsuls come ; Down lanes of life the slow processions stream, Barbaric gold and snniit pennons gleam, While all the glittering palace-balconies Are animate with bright patrician eyes— And from our mighty mother, and the hum Of labour-teeming towns, from mine and loom And the blurred forges’ mingled glow and gloom, Throngs the unnumbered, league-long crowd, Waiting, with yearning hearts and plaudits loud, To see along the fluttering, flower-hung street, With trumpet-blare and measured, martial feet, Down clear perspectives of the snniit ways, The jewelled pageant pass to prayer and praise For blessings that have been and peace and length of ofdays!

This pomp makes History. Long years to be, When all our brave Victorian company Beyond the circuits of the stars has gone, The echoes of this memorable day, Not wholly dumb nor fled away, Shall still go widening, widening on, Till Britain with new fires of Union glow. Not as the Roman triumphing of yore— The slave, the doomed behind, the Conqueror before — Our peaceful pageants show, ■Whereto each daughter-State or subject-race Brings its own native pride and grace. For Union ’tis our severed people’s cry, For Peace each neighbour realm, each proud ally! Princes and Peoples join alike to pay Due reverence to a Woman’s blameless sway, And bless with voice and heart this fair, auspicious day. Lbwis Morris.

The modern army rifle has a smaller bore than the older one, but uses smokeless powder and has a higher carrying power. The possibilities of the French guns were recently illustrated in the vicinity of a large town. A large bull escaped from its herd, and the caretaker, being unable to capture it, besought some soldiers to kill the animal. The first shot missed altogether, but the second bullet went clear through the bull’s body from forehead to tail, killing him almost instantly. The weapon employed is known as the Lebel rifle.

The following is the hymn written by the Bishop of Wakefield and set to music by Sir Arthur Sullivan which was used in all churches and chapels in England and Wales on the 20th of June last (Jubilee Sunday) as forming part of the service authorised to be used on that day :— 1 Toll aotd Moniof ood Pnftr, or oflrr tkr Third CoUta, or ikui it i rifr Ix/or. tk> O>«-» Jia- th Half Cnuuotim. ® Yting of hinge.

n. For every heart, made glad by Thee, With thankful praise is swelling; And every tongue, with joy set free, Its happy theme is telling. Thou hast been mindful of Thine own, And lo ! we come confessing—’Tis Thou hast dower’d our queenly throne With sixty years of blessing.

m. Oh Royal heart, with wide embrace For all her children yearning; Oh happy realm, such mother-grace With loyal love returning ! Where Btitain'aflag flies wide unfurl’d, All tyrant wrongs repelling ; God make the world a better world For man's brief earthly dwelling ! IV. Lead on, O Lord, Thy people still, New grace and wisdom giving. To larger love, and purer will, And nobler heights of living. And, while of all Thy love below They chant the gracious story, Oh, teach them first Thy Christ to know, And magnify His glory.