Nations stood with bated breath to
see her pass in the starlit mist of her children's tears; a
monarch--greatest of her time; an empress--conquered men called
mother; a woman--Englishmen cried queen; still the crowned captive
of her people's heart--the prisoner of love.
The night-goers passed under my window in silence, neither song nor
shout broke the welcome dark; next morning the workmen who went by
were strangely quiet.
'VICTORIA DEI GRATIA BRITANNIARUM REGINA.'
Did they think of how that legend would disappear, and of all it
meant, as they paid their pennies at the coffee-stall? The feet
rarely know the true value and work of the head; but all Englishmen
have been and will be quick to acknowledge and revere Victoria by
the grace of God a wise woman, a great and loving mother.
Years ago, I, standing at a level crossing, saw her pass. The
train slowed down and she caught sight of the gatekeeper's little
girl who had climbed the barrier. Such a smile as she gave her!
And then I caught a quick startled gesture as she slipped from my
vision; I thought afterwards it was that she feared the child might
fall. Mother first, then Queen; even so rest came to her--not in
one of the royal palaces, but in her own home, surrounded by the
immediate circle of her nearest and dearest, while the world kept
watch and ward.
I, a shy lover of the fields and woods, longed always, should a
painless passing be vouchsafed me, to make my bed on the fragrant
pine needles in the aloneness of a great forest; to lie once again
as I had lain many a time, bathed in the bitter sweetness of the
sun-blessed pines, lapped in the manifold silence; my ear attuned
to the wind of Heaven with its call from the Cities of Peace.
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