Carmen Triumphale.

[Stanzas Suggested Under the Flag of the Marble Arch of the Queen’s
Palace, the Evening of Wednesday, June 10, 1840.]


Thou Standard of Kings !— in the blue evening light1
The wave of thy folds never flash’d on my sight2
With a pomp more majestic—thy Lion his brow3
Never lifted in thunder more fulgent than now ;—4


Than now, when, beneath the sweet June-scented wind5
That flings thy wide purple abroad unconfined,6
I can shout to the skies, while up-gazing at thee,7
Still in Treason’s despite thou’rt the flag of the Free !”8


Wave on, then, in triumph !— Red Murder display’d9
His hand bared for slaughter in vain in thy shade ;10
The God in whose cause through the battle thou’st been11
A war-star for ages, protected thy Queen.12


In vain to the vultures of treason she wore13
Her empire’s pure ermine all guiltless of gore ;14
In vain, ’neath the sway of their cloudless-eyed child,15
In peace the blue seas of the universe smiled.16


Nor to her did the rose and the bridal avail,17
Nor that cheek with Love’s coming solicitude pale,18
Nor the watch kept by freemen, wherever she moved,19
Round the Hope of the Islands—the Crown’d and the Loved !20


By that porch rear’d by Triumph to Peace, ’twas decreed21
That the Dove of the crime-deluged nations should bleed ;22
And once more, in its terrible shadow, Whitehall,23
Where the tyrant once fell, see the Merciful fall.24


Sharp and clear the bolt flashes !— Ha ! well may the blood25
To thy brow, young Saxe-Coburg, flush out in a flood26
Up !— another Fieschi sheds life like a river27
Thy Bride’s with Navarre and De Berri for ever.*28


Go, Freedom, bereaved, o’er the West’s mighty water ;29
Shriek out to the winds for thy sceptreless daughter ;30
Back the wheels of decrepit Oppression are whirl’d,31
To rivet his shackles again on the world !32


No !— —false as the heart was the hand,—and if on33
In safety the righteous, though regal, has gone,34
To thee be the praise and the gratitude solely,35
Lord God of Sabaöth, the Holy, the Holy !36


Let not Councils confine to one day our emotion :—37
Oh, long as her kingdoms are bulwark’d by ocean,38
Her people shall hymn the puissance divine39
That spared their land’s Lily, the last of her line !40


Proud Banner——ay, well may thy blazonry shake !41
That shout would the marble magnificence break42
Of yon sleepers whose lances were lightning of old43
When thy blaze over Cressy and Agincourt roll’d !44


And now with that shout while the green earth is ringing,45
And unharmed the knightly and noble are bringing46
The Sea-Kings’ descendant exultingly back,47
With no trumpets but those of the heart in her track,—48


The Minstrel, retouching the harp left unstrung49
Since its chords with her bridal’s high brilliancy rung,†50
Joins the peans to thee raised by lofty and lowly,51
Lord God of Sabaöth—the Holy, the Holy !52

* Henry the Great (of Navarre), like his unfortunate descendant, fell by the stroke of
the assassin.
† Vide Blackwood’s Magazine for March 1840.