VICTORIA
REGINA
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All
through London’s mighty maze
Rolled the tide of Jubilee,
From her dark and sordid ways
Came the children out to see
England’s Queen of fifty years.
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Beat
the heart and fell the tears,
As with martial fire and blaze,
Pomp and pageantry and praise,
Rolled the tide of Jubilee!
All along the mighty maze
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Rolled
the Pageant of our Queen.
There was not in ancient days
Fairer Pageant ever seen.
Withered, hangs the Tudor Rose,
All the glimmering past but shows
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Faded
in the glorious blaze
Of these late Victorian days—
Roll—the Pageant of our Queen!
* * * * * * *
In the fulness of her time,
All her children bow and meet
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In Jubilee
of rhyme,
Cheer of army, shout of fleet!
She has seen the greatest die,
She has felt their souls pass by;
She has heard a nation weep
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For
an Iron Duke asleep,
For a Gordon in his prime—
Hark! from each colonial clime,
Rings a cry through London street.
Rings, till chokes the London cry,
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Silence,
guns, and silence, wheels!
Let her distant sons draw nigh,
Till our loyal anthem peals
Far from blue Canadian sky,
Pierces through the gray old pile,
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Back
along the Strand a mile
Echoes over Dome and Tower
Love for love and dower for dower,
Hers—the right to love and power;
Her—to whom our anthem peals,
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Thunders,
till her woman’s heart,
Womanly, though queenly, reels.
Lo! Victoria! We bring
Love and brave fidelity.
This believe, that with us sing
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Lovers
of the fleur-de-lis.
Lovers of the Island Green,
Kneel with us in earnest mien,
This believe, though faults of youth
Seem to dull the edge of Truth,
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| Dim
the Sun of Loyalty.
For should race dissension spread
Thick and deep as falls our snow,
It should ne’er of us be said
That we could let England—go.
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No!
Heart with heart and hand in hand
All Englishmen would make a stand
For Honour and the dear Old Land,
And ever deem her own their foe.
* * * * * * *
So through London’s crowded street
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Loud
the younger voices rang;
Of the Polar pines and sleet,
Of the Prairie wide they sang;
From the sands of the Soudan,
From the sultry airs that fan
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Egypt,
India—from the Cape—
From the thronging states that shape
A second Britain in the West
Came the offering of their best.
Nay, the whole round world awoke,
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High
a cloud of incense broke,
Reverent greeting fond and free
To the Queen of fifty years;
Beat the hearts and fell the tears,
As with martial fire and blaze,
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Pomp
and pageantry and praise,
Rolled the tide of Jubilee!
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