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She only knew her childhood's flowers
Were happier pageantries!

And while the heralds played their part
For million shouts to drown-

"God save the Queen," from hill to mart-
She heard, through all, her beating heart,
And turned and wept!

She wept, to wear a crown.

God save thee, weeping Queen,
Thou shalt be well beloved,
The tyrant's sceptre cannot move

As those pure tears have moved;
The nature in thine eye we see,
Which tyrants cannot own-

The love that guardeth liberties;
Strange blessing on the nation lies,
Whose sovereign wept,

Yea, wept, to wear its crown.

God bless thee, weeping Queen,
With blessing more divine;

And fill with better love than earth's,
That tender heart of thine;

That when the thrones of earth shall be

As low as graves brought down,

A pierced hand may give to thee,

The crown which angels wept to see.
Thou wilt not weep,

To wear that heavenly crown.

BARRETT.

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Thine up-turned eyes glazed over,

Like hare-bells wet with dew; Already veiled and hid

By the convulsed lid,

Their pupils darkly blue.

Thy little mouth half open-
Thy soft lip quivering,

As if like summer air

Ruffling the rose leaves, there
Thy soul was fluttering.

Mount up, immortal essence!
Young spirit, haste, depart!

And is this death!-dread thing!—

If such thy visiting,

How beautiful thou art!

Oh! I could gaze for ever
Upon that waxen face:

So passionless, so pure!—
The little shrine was sure

An angel's dwelling-place.

Thou weepest, childless mother!

Ay, weep, 'twill ease thine heart;

He was thy first-born son,

Thy first, thine only one,

'Tis hard from him to part!

'Tis hard to lay thy darling

Deep in the damp cold earth,—

His empty crib to see,

His silent nursery,

Once gladsome with his mirth.

To meet again in slumber,

His small mouth's rosy kiss;
Then waken with a start

By thine own throbbing heart,
His twining arms to miss!

To feel (half conscious why)

A dull, heart-sinking weight,

Till memory on thy soul
Flashes the painful whole,

That thou art desolate!

And then to lie and weep,

And think the livelong night

(Feeding thine own distress With accurate greediness) Of every past delight;

Of all his winning ways,
His pretty, playful smiles,

His joy at sight of thee,
His tricks, his mimicry-

And all his little wiles!

Oh! these are recollections

Round mother's hearts that cling

That mingle with the tears

And smiles of after years,

With oft awakening.

But thou wilt then, fond mother!
In after years look back,—
Time brings such wondrous easing,
With sadness not unpleasing,

E'en on this gloomy track.

Thou'lt say, "My first-born blessing,
It almost broke my heart
When thou wert forced to go;

And yet for thee I know,
'Twas better to depart.

"God took thee in his mercy,
A lamb untasked, untried :
He fought the fight for thee,
He won the victory,

And thou art sanctified!

"I look around and see

The evil ways of men ; And, oh! beloved child! I'm more than reconciled To thy departure then.

"The little arms that clasped me,

The innocent lips that pressed,Would they have been as pure Till now, as when of yore,

I lulled thee on my breast?

"Now like a dew-drop shrined Within a crystal stone,

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