Fought for some spectral liberty,

Or sanguinary chief,

We prized the gift our sires bequeathed,

And round thy brow our laurels wreathed.

VIII.

While Anarchy prepared for fight,

And Tyranny grew strong,

We stood a model for the right—

A warning for the wrong:

And showed the realms, misdoubting still,

The quiet grandeur of our will.

IX.

We taught that theories were vain,

However high and pure,

That took no heed of toil and pain,.

And patience to endure,

Or thought great Freedom's tree of power,

Grew like a mushroom in an hour.

Σ.

And if we've known a happier fate,

Although some praise be theirs—

The pious people, brave and great,

Made wise by many cares;

Not less the meed that's justly thine,

Supported by the Hand Divine.

XI.

Beneath thy mild, auspicious sway,
The household virtues bloom,

And Learning and the Arts display
A light through Europe's gloom.
And wondrous deeds are daily wrought,
That once seemed folly to have thought.

XII.

Th' electric chain, whose mystic girth,

Makes distance but a span;

And Science covering all the earth

With benefits for man;

And countless triumphs to be born

In the new dawning of the Morn:

XIII.

All these the annalist shall tell

As glories of thy Crown,

And own as we, thy name a spell,

And omen of renown;

Victoria of the peaceful smiles!

Queen and Enchantress of the Isles!

XXVII.

A BARD'S REQUEST.

I.

WHEN I lie cold in death,

Bury me where ye will,

Though if my living breath

May urge my wishes still,

When I shall breathe no more;

Let my last dwelling be

Beneath a turf with wild flowers covered o'er,

Amid the solemn gloom

Of old cathedrals dim;

I care not for the pride

Of epitaphs well-meant,

Nor wish my name with any pomps allied,
When my last breath is spent;

Give me a grave beneath the fair green trees,

And an abiding-place in good men's memories.

III.

But wheresoe'er I sleep,

I charge you friends of mine,

With adjuration deep

And by your hopes divine,

Let no irreverent pen

For sake of paltry pay,

Expose my faults or follies unto men,

To desecrate my clay;

Let none but good men's tongues my story tell ;

Nor even they, I'd sleep unvexed by any knell.