  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, Nor small, 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, Or cope 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 And power; 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 Thy name Stands free,— '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! |
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