Thou of the sunny hair,
And brow more sunny and more fair;
The upraised heaven-blue eye,
That borrows from the sky
Its tint, its brightness, and its majesty;
A lip half pouting and half curl'd,—
Mercy and Justice met
To speak thy dictates to the world!
A form, nor tall,
But bearing up the casket of thy mind,
Like to a classic pillar 'neath an altar set,
For elegance, and not for gorgeousness design'd.
How can I hope,
Whilst adulations throng
From mouths of wisdom and the great,
To lift my humble song,
With those of higher state,
But that the smile which smiles on all so free
Must smile on me?
Oh, that a brow that has not learn'd to frown
Should bear the impress of a royal crown!
That youth, which has not yet seen womanhood,
Should counsel for the aged and the rude!
And that a form, which joyous as a bird has flown,
Should rigid grow, and statue-like upon a throne!
Can thy tiara's light
Brighten thy fate?
Or thy great empire's might
Relieve its weight?
Can aught atone
For natural youthful pleasures fled and gone?
Not gilded pageantry,
Nor boundless sovereignty:
The ocean that thou rulest is more free than thee!
Thy youthful life is coffin'd down
Beneath the chaining trammels of a crown.
But there's a recompense that's given,
That must sustain
Thy trying hour,—
The all-seeing eye of Heaven
Blesses thy reign
A Nation's love, in acclamations deep,
Mingles even in thy unbroken sleep,
Giving thee back, in many a vision wild,
Thy days of youthful and unfetter'd charm;
And a fond Mother's arm
Pillows her regal child.
Ah, when thou wakest, still that joyful face is seen,
Beaming upon her daughter and her youthful queen!
On the scroll of Fame
'Tis but another name for Victory!
Long may it stand
A law,—a beacon,—and a will,—
Till the Omnipotent command
Bids Fame be mute, and the great globe be still!