The Minster was alight that day, but not with fire, I ween, And long-drawn glitterings swept adown that mighty aisled scene; The priests stood stoled in their pomp, the sworded chiefs in theirs, And so the collared knights--and so the civil ministers; And so the waiting lords and dames--and little pages best At holding trains--and legates so, from countries east and west; So alien princes, native peers, and high-born ladies bright Along whose brows the Queen's new crown'd, flashed coronets to light. And so, the people at the gates, with priestly hands on high, Which bring the first anointing to all legal majesty; And so, the Dead--who lay in rows beneath the Minster floor, There verily an awful state maintaining evermore-- The statesman, with no Burleigh nod, whate'er court tricks may be; The courtier, who, for no fair Queen, will rise up to his knee; The court-dame, who for no court tire will leave her shroud behind; The laureate, who no courtlier rhymes than "dust to dust" can find; The kings and queens who having ta'en that vow and worn that crown, Descended unto lower thrones and darker, deeper adown; "Dieu et mon Droit," what is't to them? what meaning can it have? The king of kings, the dust of dust--God's judgment and the grave. And when betwixt the quick and dead the young fair Queen had vowed, The living shouted, "May she live! Victoria, live!" aloud, And as these loyal shouts went up, true spirits prayed between, The blessings happy monarchs have, be thine, O Crowned Queen!