V. Where would be triumphant Science, Searching with her fearless eyes, Through the infinite Creation For the soul that underlies Soul of Beauty, soul of Goodness, Wisdom of the earth and skies? VI. Where would be all great inventions, Each from by-gone fancies born, Issued first in doubt and darkness, Launch'd 'mid apathy and scorn? How could noontime ever light us, But for dawning of the morn? VII. Where would be our free opinion, Where the right to speak at all, If our sires, like thee mistrustful, Had been deaf to duty's call, And concealed the thoughts within them, Lying down for fear to fall? VIII. Though an honest thought, outspoken, What is Life, compared with Virtue? Hark! the future age invites thee! Listen! trembler, what it saith! IX. It demands thy thought in justice, Debt, not tribute, of the free; Have not ages long departed Groan'd, and toil'd, and bled for thee? If the Past have lent thee wisdom, Pay it to Futurity. XXVI. ON A PORTRAIT OF QUEEN VICTORIA. I. AND is this she-so pure and meek— Is this the mighty Queen With soft full eyes and placid check, And aspect so serene? Is this the Sovereign of the sea— The Great, the Invincible, the Free? II. Are these the fragile hands that wield The firmest sceptre known? Is this the fairy form revealed That fills earth's loftiest throne? And with the shadow of her robe Belts all the climates of the globe ? III. No charm that in the poorest homes Breathes happiness around, Is absent here; where'er she roams She carries holy ground: And were she humble as she's high, Love were alike her destiny. IV. Oh, subtle power of gentleness! Oh, bright example sent to bless And elevate our land! Thou need'st no armies in defence Thou hast them in thine innocence! V. Great Queen! sweet Lady! Woman true! Fair Mother! tender Wife! May blessings like the heavenly dew Fall daily on thy life! For thee the nation's prayers ascend, Its child, its guardian, and its friend. VI. Our prayers are grateful; for we know, Not dawned amid impending woe, And clouds of coming war, That civil discords might have broke In lightnings round our British oak. VII. While "nations not so blest as we," Toss'd in a whirl of grief, |