To Henry the Fifth

My youth was passing, Sire, whilst you among     The cradle-wrappings slept; my morning-song     Sung oer your pillow. Winds of heaven have thrown     Us both, since then, on heights apart and lone.     Heights! For misfortune drear, our destined land,     So thunder-scarred, a-nigh to heaven must stand!     The north and south are nearer than our ways     Are near to one another; and Fate lays     The purple round you, and has not withheld     Our Frances sceptre-dazzlements of eld.     I, crowned with silver hairs, say, praising you,     Well done! That man is to his manhood true     Who bravely, at his own behest, will do     High deeds of self -undoing; will forego     All, all, save immemorial Honour; though     She seem to earthlier eyes a phantom, more     Will follow her (as erst in Elsinore     One faithful heart obeyed the beckoning ghost),     Nor stoop to buy a kingdom at her cost.     That you are aught save honest, none may say;     The Lily must be white, all white, for aye.     A Bourbon can but reign as Capets heir,     Or waive his kingship. History is aware     Of wrecks enough, of changing battles din,     Of those who grandly lose, or basely win!     Better with honour, Prince, the throne to quit.     Than, where St. Louis sat, dishonoured sit! Melbourne Argus, 1873.