CARMEN NUPTIALE.

The Lay of the Laureate.

TO HER ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE,

THE FOLLOWING POEM IS DEDICATED

WITH PROFOUND RESPECT, BY HER ROYAL HIGHNESS'S MOST DUTIFUL

And nurse for better worlds thine own immortal Princes and Potentates from conquer'd France, part!"

6.

Praise to that Power who, from my earliest days,
Thus taught me what to seek and what to shun,
Who turn'd my footsteps from the crowded ways,
Appointing me my better course to run

In solitude, with studious leisure bless'd,
The mind unfetter'd, and the heart at rest.

7.

For therefore have my days been days of joy,
And all my paths are paths of pleasantness:
And still my heart, as when I was a boy,

Doth never know an ebb of cheerfulness;
Time, which matures the intellectual part,
Hath tinged my hairs with gray, but left untouch'd
my heart.

8.

Sometimes I soar where Fancy guides the rein,
Beyond this visible diurnal sphere;
But most, with long and self-approving pain,
Patient pursue the historian's task severe;
Thus in the ages which are past I live,

And chiefs in arms approved, a peerless train, Assembled at his Court, - my duteous lays Preferr'd a welcome of enduring praise.

14.

And when that last and most momentous hour
Beheld the re-risen cause of evil yield

To the Red Cross and England's arm of power,
I sung of Waterloo's unequall'd field,
Paying the tribute of a soul imbued
With deepest joy devout and awful gratitude.

15.

Such strains beseem'd me well. But how shall I
To hymeneal numbers tune the string,
Who to the trumpet's martial symphony,
And to the mountain gales am wont to sing?
How may these unaccustom'd accents suit
To the sweet dulcimer and courtly lute?

16.

Fitter for me the lofty strain severe,

That calls for vengeance for mankind oppress'd; Fitter the songs that youth may love to hear, Which warm and elevate the throbbing breast;

And those which are to come my sure reward will Fitter for me with meed of solemn verse,

give.

9.

Yea, in this now, while Malice frets her hour,
Is foretaste given me of that meed divine;
Here, undisturb'd in this sequester'd bower,
The friendship of the good and wise is mine;
And that green wreath which decks the Bard
when dead,

That laureate garland, crowns my living head.

10.

That wreath which, in Eliza's golden days,
My Master dear, divinest Spenser, wore,
That which rewarded Drayton's learned lays,
Which thoughtful Ben and gentle Daniel bore,
Grin, Envy, through thy ragged mask of scorn!
In honor it was given, with honor it is worn!

11.

Proudly I raised the high thanksgiving strain
Of victory in a rightful cause achieved;
For which I long had look'd, and not in vain,
As one who, with firm faith and undeceived,
In history and the heart of man could find
Sure presage of deliverance for mankind.

In reverence, to adorn the hero's hearse.

17.

But then my Master dear arose to mind,
He on whose song, while yet I was a boy,
My spirit fed, attracted to its kind,

And still insatiate of the growing joy ; —
He on whose tomb these eyes were wont to dwell,
With inward yearnings which I may not tell; —

18.

He whose green bays shall bloom forever young,
And whose dear name whenever I repeat,
Reverence and love are trembling on my tongue;
Sweet Spenser, sweetest Bard; yet not more

sweet

Than pure was he, and not more pure than wise,
High Priest of all the Muses' mysteries.

19.

I call'd to mind that mighty Master's song,
When he brought home his beautifulest bride,
And Mulla murmur'd her sweet undersong,

And Mole with all his mountain woods replied;
Never to mortal lips a strain was given
More rich with love, more redolent of Heaven.

The marks of Brunswick's Royal Line were seen. VALOR his earth-born son; so both derived from

Strong were his sinewy limbs and smooth his Gentle her mien, and void of all offence;