One moment, and ye see
Where, fluttering quick, as the breezes blow,
Backwards and forwards, to and fro,
Bright with the beam of retiring day,
Old Eton's flag, on its watery way,
Moves on triumphantly!
But what that ancient poets have told
Of Amphitrite's car of gold,
With the Nymphs behind, and the Nymphs before,
And the Nereid's song, and the Triton's roar,
Could equal half the pride
That heralds the Monarch's plashing oar
Over the swelling tide?
And look!-they land, those gallant crews,
With their jackets light, and their bellying trews; And Ashley walks applauded by,
With a world's talent in his
And Kinglake, dear to poetry,
And dearer to his friends;
Hibernian Roberts, you are there,
With that unthinking merry stare
Which still its influence lends
To make us drown our devils blue,
In laughing at ourselves,-and you!
Still I could lengthen out the tale,
And sing Sir Thomas with his ale
To all that like to read;
Still I could choose to linger long,
Where Friendship bids the willing song
Flow out for honest Meade !
Yet e'en on this triumphant day
One thought of grief will rise;
And though I bid my fancy play,
And jest and laugh through all the lay,
Yet sadness still will have its way
And burst the vain disguise!
Yes! when the pageant shall have passed,
I shall have looked upon my last ;
I shall not e'er behold again
Our pullers' unremitted strain;
Not listen to the charming cry
Of contest or of victory
That speaks what those young bosoms feel, As keel is pressing fast on keel;
Oh! bright these glories still shall be,
But they shall never dawn for me!
E'en when a realm's congratulation
Sang Pæans for the Coronation,
Amidst the pleasure that was round me,
A melancholy Spirit found me ;
And while all else were singing "Io !"
I couldn't speak a word but "Heigh-ho!"
And so, instead of laughing gaily,
I dropped a tear,—and wrote my "VALE."
ETON, the Monarch of thy prayers
E'en now receives his load of cares;
Throned in the consecrated choir
He takes the sceptre of his Sire,
And wears the crown his Father bore,
And swears the oath his Father swore,
And therefore sounds of joy resound,
Fair Eton, on thy classic ground.
A gladder gale is round thee breathed ;
And on thy mansions thou hast wreathed
A thousand lamps, whose various hue
Waits but the night to burst to view.
Woe to the poets that refuse
To wake and woo their idle Muse,
When those glad notes, "God save the King,"
From hill and vale and hamlet ring!
Hark, how the loved inspiring tune
Peals forth from every loyal loon
Who loves his country, and excels
In drinking beer or ringing bells!
It is a day of shouts and greeting ;
A day of idleness and eating;
And triumph swells in every soul,
And mighty beeves are roasted whole,
And ale, unbought, is set a-running,
And pleasure's hymn grows rather stunning,
And children roll upon the green,
cry "Confusion to the Queen!"
And Sorrow flies, and Labour slumbers,
And Clio pours her loudest numbers ;
And hundreds of that joyous throng
With whom my life hath lingered long
Give their gay raptures to the gale,
In one united echoing "Hail !"
I took the harp, I smote the string,
I strove to soar on Fancy's wing,
And murmur in my Sovereign's praise
The latest of my boyhood's lays.
Alas! the theme was too divine
To suit so weak a Muse as mine:
I saw I felt it could not be ;
No song of triumph flows from me;
The harp from which those sounds ye ask
Is all unfit for such a task;
And the last echo of its tone,
Dear Eton, must be thine alone!
A few short hours, and I am borne
Far from the fetters I have worn;
A few short hours, and I am free !-
And yet I shrink from liberty,
And look, and long to give my soul
Back to thy cherishing control.
Control? ah no! thy chain was meant
Far less for bond than ornament;
And though its links be firmly set,
I never found them gall me yet.
Oh still, through many chequered years,
'Mid anxious toils and hopes and fears,
Still I have doted on thy fame,
And only gloried in thy name.
How I have loved thee! Thou hast been
My Hope, my Mistress, and my Queen;
I always found thee kind, and thou
Hast never seen me weep-till now.
I knew that time was fleeting fast,
I knew thy pleasures could not last;
I knew too well that riper age
Must step upon a busier stage;
Yet when around thine ancient towers
I passed secure my tranquil hours,
Or heard beneath thine aged trees
The drowsy humming of the bees,
Or wandered by thy winding stream,
I would not check my fancy's dream ;
Glad in my transitory bliss,
I recked not of an hour like this;
And now the truth comes swiftly on,
The truth I would not think upon,
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