--O day of triumph, when thy bloodless host From Devon's russet coast Through the fair capital of the garden-West, And that, whose gracious spire Like childhood's prayer springs heaven-ward unrepress'd, To Thames march'd legion-like, and at their tread The sullen despot fled, And Law and Freedom fair,--so late restored, And to so-perilous life, While Stuart craft replaced the Usurper's sword,-- Broke forth, as sunshine from the breaking sky, When vernal storm-wings fly! That day was thine, great Chief, from sea to sea: The whole land's welcome seem'd The welcome of one man! a realm by thee Deliver'd!--But the crowning hour of fame, The zenith of a name Is ours once only: and he, too just, too stern, Too little Englishman, A nation's gratitude did not care to earn, On wider aims, not worthier, set:--A soul Immured in self-control; Saving the thankless in their own despite:-- Then turning with a gasp Of joy, to his own land by native right; Changing the Hall of Rufus and the Keep Of Windsor's terraced steep For Guelderland horizons, silvery-blue; The green deer-twinkling glades, And long, long, avenues of the stately Loo. 'William,' says his all too zealous panegyrist, 'never became an Englishman. He served England, it is true; but he never loved her, and he never obtained her love. To him she was always a land of exile, visited with reluctance and quitted with delight. . . . Her welfare was not his chief object. Whatever patriotic feeling he had was for Holland. . . . In the gallery of Whitehall he pined for the familiar House in the Wood at the Hague, and never was so happy as when he could quit the magnificence of Windsor for his humbler seat at Loo:' (Macaulay: _Hist_. ch. vii) _One labouring breath_; William throughout life was tortured by asthma. _Demon's russet coast_; Torbay.--_Capital of the garden-West_; Exeter.--_Gracious spire_; Salisbury.--_Hall of Rufus_; The one originally built by William II at Westminster. THE CHILDLESS MOTHER 1700-1702 Oft in midnight visions Ghostly by my bed Stands a Father's image, Pale discrowned head:-- --I forsook thee, Father! Was no child to thee! Child-forsaken Mother, Now 'tis so with me. Oft I see the brother, Baby born to woe, Crouching by the church-wall From the bloodhound-foe. Evil crown'd of evil, Heritage of strife! Mine, an heirless sceptre: His, an exile life! --O my vanish'd darlings, From the cradle torn! Dewdrop lives, that never Saw their second morn! Buds that fell untimely,-- Till one blossom grew; As I watch'd its beauty, Fading whilst it blew. Thou wert more to me, Love, More than words can tell: All my remnant sunshine Died in one farewell. Midnight-mirk before me Now my life goes by, For the baby faces As in vain I cry.