Page:Ode on the coronation of King Edward VII (Grote 1901).djvu/12

 To England on this Coronation Day.

Here shall the time-worn vaulted roof resound

With anthems wafted from the choirs above;

And here the Seventh Edward shall be crowned,

And, at King Edward's chair, the emblems take

Of pre-existent knight-conferring power.

And on his head the man of God shall pour,

From the ampulla and the golden bowl,

A reverent blessing in the holy oil.

The king shall cause the consecrated sword

Of state to be unscabbarded and drawn

For him as the Defender of the Faith,

Bound by his conscience and bound by his oath.

Here heralded, a world of beauty waits;

And honour on honour waits, and rank on rank;

And Mediæval rites and colour-schemes

And all the glory and pomp of Chivalry

Challenge the graces of heraldic art,

And blend the Roman and the Grecian arch

Where dim-lit banners lend historic light.

And now behold the king his crown puts on,

And binds a glittering crown about the brow

Of Alexandra, sharer of his care,

Soul of his soul—Incomparable Queen.

And, from the vaults of England's deathless dead,

Voices of heroes, kings and ministers,

Voices from our imperishable past,

Rustling on wings of approbation, float

Up and along the transept and the nave,

Up to the chancel and the very dome

Over the altar and King Edward's chair.

Now solemnly, the benediction falls;

And loud, without the Abbey walls, a shout,

Rending the air, proclaims the king is crowned.

Cannons add roar to roar, boom upon boom;

All round the realm, sound blends in sound,

Music in the air, music in the soul.

And, flaming to his purple shadowy couch,

The fiery Phœbus, finishing his task,

Proclaims the king is crowned! Long live the king!