LINES ON THE LANDING OF HIS MAJESTY KING LOUIS PHILIPPE, TUESDAY, OCTOBER 8, 1844. By B. Simmons. I. Ho! Wardens of the Coast look forth Upon your Channel seas-- The night is melting in the north, There's tumult on the breeze; Now sinking far, now rolling out In proud triumphal swell, That mingled burst of shot and shout Your fathers knew so well, What time to England's inmost plain The beacon-fires proclaim'd That, like descending hurricane, Grim Blake, that Mastiff of the Main, Beside your shores had once again The Flemish lion tamed! [43] War wakes not now that tumult loud, Ye Wardens of the Coast, Though looming large, through dawn's dim cloud, Like an invading host The Barks of France are bearing down, One crowd of sails, while high Above the misty morning's frown Their streamers light the sky. Up!--greet for once the Tricolor, For once the lilied flag! Forth with gay barge and gilded oar, While fast the volley'd salvoes roar From batteried line, and echoing shore, And gun-engirdled crag! Forth--greet with ardent hearts and eyes, The Guest those galleys bring; In Wisdom's walks the more than Wise-- 'Mid Kings the more than King! No nobler visitant e'er sought The Mighty's white-cliff'd isle, Where Alfred ruled, where Bacon thought, Where Avon's waters smile: Hail to the tempest-vexed Man! Hail to the Sovereign-Sage! A wearier pilgrimage who ran Than the immortal Ithacan, Since first his great career began, Ulysses of our age! A more than regal welcome give, Ye thousands crowding round; Shout for the once lorn Fugitive, Whose soul no solace found Save in that Self-reliance --match For adverse worlds, alone-- Which cheer'd the Tutor's humble thatch, Nor left him on the throne. The Wanderer Muller's sails they furl-- The Wave-encounterer, who, When Freedom leagued with Crime to hurl Up earth's foundations, from the whirl Where vortex'd Empires raged, the pearl Of matchless Prudence drew. V. Shout for the Husband and the Sire, Whose children, train'd to truth, Repaid in feeling, grace, and fire, The lessons taught their youth. Recall his grief when bent above His rose-zoned daughter's clay, Beside whose marble, lifeless, Love, And Art, and Genius lay. [44] And his be homage still more dread, From our mute spirits won, For tears of heart-wrung anguish shed, When with that gray "discrownEd head," On foot he follow'd to the dead His gallant, princely son. VI. Shout for the Hero and the King In soul serene--alike, If suppliant States the sceptre bring, Or banded traitors strike! Oh, if at times a thrall too strong Round Freedom's form be laid, Where Faction works by wrath and wrong His pardon be display'd. Be his this praise--unspoil'd by power His course benignly ran, A Monarch , mindful of the hour He felt misfortune's wintry shower, A Man , from hall to peasant's bower, The common friend of Man. VII. Again the ramparts' loosen'd load Of thunder rends the air! Peal on--such pomp is fitly show'd-- He lands no stranger there. Hear from his lips your language grave In earnest accents fall-- The memories of the home ye gave He hastens to recall -- 'Mid flash of spears and fiery thrill Of trumpets speed him forth, The Master-Mind your Shakspeare still Had loved to draw--that to its will Shapes Fate and Chance with potent skill-- The Numa of the North. VIII. Windsor! henceforth a loftier spell Invests thy storied walls-- The Bards of future years shall tell That first within thy halls Imperial Truth and Mercy met, And in that hallow'd hour Gave earth the hope that Peace shall yet Be dear to Kings as Power. When France clasp'd England's hand of old There memory marks the wane Of iron times, the bad and bold; [45] Oh, may our Second Field of Gold A portent still more fair unfold Of Wisdom's widening reign! FOOTNOTES:

[43] Almost all Blake's great battles were fought in the Channel. One of the most memorable was that off Portsmouth, February 1652.