NUNO DIMITTIS. • SLEEP, Lady, for the hour of peace,
That comes to all, has come to thee ; And welcome was the late release That set the weary prisoner free. For thou from sun to sun hest reigned, Thy name is borne on every breath ; A single crowning boon remained, The last and greatest gift of Death.
So long the lonely traveller dreamed Of her, far journey's joyful end, That your imperious summons seemed The gentle whisper of a friend. By duty bound to heavy state, Whence all the old delight had fled, How did her anxious spirit wait The call of her beloved dead !
For still her girlhood's soul she bore, Too tender for that Royal part ; And the more calm her brow, the more In secret bled the woman's heart. But her so sorely tortured breast Had such a heavenly patience learned, That scarce her nearest kindredguessed How sharp the hidden anguish burned.
And. she shall have a nobler grave, A fairer and a grander tomb, Than England once to Henry gave In the great Minster's central gloom. Though all the seas of all the world Have her uncounted triumphs seen, No pride of captured flags unfurled May fitly canopy our Queen.
The daughter of a hundred Kings, And yet a true Republican, She_ left all care of meaner things, To serve and to ennoble man.
So let our cunning artists rear What pompous cenotaph they will, The hearts that hold her memory dear Are her eternal dwelling still.
EDWARD SYDNEY TYLEE.
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