A WELCOME TO ALEXANDRA. MARCH 7, 1863. EA-KINGS' daughter from over the sea, Alexandra! Saxon and Norman and Dane are we, But all of us Danes in our welcome of thee, Alexandra! Welcome her, thunders of fort and of fleet! Welcome her, thundering cheer of the street! Welcome her, all things youthful and sweet, Scatter the blossom under her feet! Break, happy land, into earlier flowers! Make music, O bird, in the new-budded bowers! Blazon your mottos of blessing and prayer! Welcome her, welcome her, all that is ours! Flags, flutter out upon turrets and towers! Utter your jubilee, steeple and spire! Clash, ye bells, in the merry March air! Rush to the roof, sudden rocket, and higher Melt into stars for the land's desire! Roll and rejoice, jubilant voice, Roll as a ground-swell dash'd on the strand, Bride of the heir of the kings of the sea- Teuton or Celt, or whatever we be, We are each all Dane in our welcome of thee, Alexandra! THE GRANDMOTHER. I. ND Willy, my eldest-born, is gone, you say, little Anne ? Ruddy and white, and strong on his legs, he looks like a man. And Willy's wife has written: she never was over-wise, Never the wife for Willy: he wouldn't take my advice. II. For, Annie, you see, her father was not the man to save, Hadn't a head to manage, and drank himself into his grave. Pretty enough, very pretty! but I was against it for one. Eh!-but he wouldn't hear me—and Willy, you say, is gone. III. Willy, my beauty, my eldest-born, the flower of the flock; Never a man could fling him: for Willy stood like a rock. "Here's a leg for a babe of a week!" says doctor; and he would be bound, There was not his like that year in twenty parishes round. IV. Strong of his hands, and strong on his legs, but still of his tongue! I ought to have gone before him: I wonder he went so young. I cannot cry for him, Annie: I have not long to stay; Perhaps I shall see him the sooner, for he lived far away. V. Why do you look at me, Annie? you think I am hard and cold; But all my children have gone before me, I am so old : I cannot weep for Willy, nor can I weep for the rest; Only at your age, Annie, I could have wept with the best. VI. For I remember a quarrel I had with your father, my dear, All for a slanderous story, that cost me many a tear. I mean your grandfather, Annie: it cost me a world of woe, Seventy years ago, my darling, seventy years ago. VII. For Jenny, my cousin, had come to the place, and I knew right well That Jenny had tript in her time: I knew, but I would not tell. |