The Bells And Queen Victoria

"Gay go up and gay go down
To ring the Bells of London Town."
When London Town's asleep in bed
You'll hear the Bells ring overhead.
In excelsis gloria!
Ringing for Victoria,
Ringing for their mighty mistress, ten years dead!

The Bells:
Here is more gain than Gloriana guessed,
Then Gloriana guessed or Indies bring,
Then golden Indies bring. A Queen confessed,
A Queen confessed that crowned her people King.
Her people King, and crowned a11 Kings above,
Above a11 Kings have crowned their Queen their love,
Have crowned their love their Queen, their Queen their love!
Denying her, we do ourselves deny,
Disowning her are we ourselves disowned.
Mirror was she of our fidelity,
And handmaid of our destiny enthroned;
The very marrow of Youth's dream, and still
Yoke-mate of wisest Age that worked her will!

Our fathers had declared to us her praise,
Her praise the years had proven past all speech.
And past all speech our loyal hearts always,
Always our hearts lay open, each to each,
Therefore men gave the treasure of their blood
To this one woman, for she understood!

Four o' the clock! Now all the world is still.
Oh, London Bells, to all the world declare
The Secret of the Empire, read who will!
The Glory of the People, touch who dare!

The Bells:
Power that has reached itself all kingly powers,
St. Margaret's: By love o'erpowered,
St. Martin's: By love o'erpowered,
St. Clement Danes: By love o'erpowered,
The greater power confers!
The Bells:
For we were hers, as she, as she was ours,
Bow Bells: And she was ours,
St. Paul's: And she was ours,
Westminister: And she was ours,
As we, even we, were hers!
The Bells
As we were hers!

Rudyard

Rudyard Kipling was an English journalist, short-story writer, poet, and novelist. He was born in British India, which inspired much of his work. His notable works include the novels 'The Jungle Book,' 'Kim,' and the poem 'If—.' Kipling was one of the most popular writers in the United Kingdom in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. He received the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1907, making him the youngest recipient of the award.

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Ode On The Installation Of His Royal Highness Prince Albert As Chancellor Of The University Of Cambridge, July 1847

INTRODUCTION AND CHORUS

For thirst of power that Heaven disowns,
For temples, towers, and thrones,
Too long insulted by the Spoiler's shock,
Indignant Europe cast
Her stormy foe at last
To reap the whirlwind on a Libyan rock.

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War is passion's basest game
Madly played to win a name;
Up starts some tyrant, Earth and Heaven to dare,
The servile million bow;
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The Despot's laureled brow?

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War is mercy, glory, fame,
Waged in Freedom's holy cause;
Freedom, such as Man may claim
Under God's restraining laws.
Such is Albion's fame and glory:
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RECIT. (accompanied) (CONTRALTO)

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London Voluntaries - To Charles Whibley - V - Allegro Maestoso

Spring winds that blow
As over leagues of myrtle-blooms and may;
Bevies of spring clouds trooping slow,
Like matrons heavy bosomed and aglow
With the mild and placid pride of increase!    Nay,
What makes this insolent and comely stream
Of appetence, this freshet of desire
(Milk from the wild breasts of the wilful Day!),
Down Piccadilly dance and murmur and gleam
In genial wave on wave and gyre on gyre?
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The wealth of her enchanted urn
Till, over-billowing all between
Her cheerful margents, grey and living green,
It floats and wanders, glittering and fleeing,
An estuary of the joy of being?
Why should the lovely leafage of the Park
Touch to an ecstasy the act of seeing?
- Sure, sure my paramour, my Brid...

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The Coming Of The Princess

I.


Break dull November skies, and make
Sunshine over wood and lake,
And fill your cells of frosty air
With thousand, thousand welcomes to the Princely pair!
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The wrinkled face of old Winter is bright for them;
The honour and pride of a race
Secure in their dwelling place,
Steadfast and stern as the rocks that guard her,
Tremble and thrill and leap in their veins,
As the blood of one man through the beacon-lit border!
Like a fire, like a flame,
At the sound of her name,
As the smoky-throated cannon mutter it,
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And a hundred rock-lights write it in fire!
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St. Margaret's bells,
Quiring their innocent, old-world canticles,
Sing in the storied air,
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Disconsolate for that the night is nigh.
O, the low, lingering lights!    The large last gleam
(Hark! how those brazen choristers cry and call!)
Touching these solemn ancientries, and there,
The silent River ranging tide-mark high
And the callow, grey-faced Hospital,
With the strange glimmer and glamour of a dream!
The Sabbath peace is in the slumbrous trees,
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Mr. Barney Maguire's Account Of The Coronation

Och! the Coronation! what celebration
For emulation can with it compare?
When to Westminster the Royal Spinster,
And the Duke of Leinster, all in order did repair!
'Twas there you'd see the New Polishemen
Making a skrimmage at half after four,
And the Lords and Ladies, and the Miss O'Gradys,
All standing round before the Abbey door.

Their pillows scorning, that self-same morning
Themselves adorning, all by the candle light,
With roses and lilies, and daffy-down-dillies,
And gould, and jewels, and rich di'monds bright.
And then approaches five hundred coaches,
With Giniral Dullbeak. Och! 'twas mighty fine
To see how asy bould Corporal Casey,
With his swoord drawn, prancing, made them kape the line.

Then the Guns' alarums, and the King of Arums,

Richard Harris Barham