From the topmost turret ringing
Comes the giant bells,
Till the very walls are swinging,
Of the sad one’s cell—
Deafened with the iron roar—
Loud the fiery cannon sounding,
Seem to rend the skies,
While the multitude surrounding
Answer with their cries.
Loud as waves upon the shore,
Fast the hurrying horsemen pour.
Lute and voices soft are stealing,
Soft and musical;
But the trumpet, proud appealing,
Rises above all.
Proud it welcomes England’s queen!
Slow amid the crowd she rideth
With a stately grace,
While with queen-like art she chideth
Her white courser’s pace—
That no one who there had been
But might tell what he had seen.
Blue her eyes are, as the morning
Flashing into day;
Clear as are the falcon’s, scorning
Not to meet that ray.
Now its light is soft the while.
In her golden hair are blended
Diamond and pearl;
But that glittering head is bended
To the favourite Earl;
And the Lady of our isle
Listens with a conscious smile.
Suddenly the air is gleaming
With a rosy light,
And thousand rockets streaming
Seem like stars, when night
Shakes them from her raven hair.
Gloriously the golden splendour
Flashes o’er the scene:
Thus the lake and castle render
Homage to the queen.
Shouts from all the crowd declare
That the Queen hath entered there.
32
