The Press.
London, England, 1858-08-07 00:00:00

THE PRESS, AUGUST 7, 1858.

from our various Consulates, and the effects to be feared from America*
designs on Cuba. The Noble Lord, however, is so much preoccupied by
the question of a testimonial to King liomsA, that it is feared the
whole scheme will end in smoke.

THE QUEEN AT CHERBOURG
Blow soft, ye summer breezes! and thou sea
Tame down thy many-crested waves, nor vex
The stately keel, that, fraught with Britain's hope,
Watch'd by ten thousand eyes, from Britain's shore
Moves self•propell'd, instinct with vaporous life—
The Island Queen, at home upon the deep,
Midst pray'rs and blessings goes serenely forth.
See, round the Royal ship attendant barks
Throng lovingly, of various shape and trim ;
Some floating halls of Commerce—some the toys
Wherewith our Island-nobles flout the sea,
Dallying with danger. High and low are there,
Bound for one port, and by one im pulse swayed.
What seeks the hope of Britain on the main,
And whither steer so many glitt'ring barks
That seem not bonne for battle ? Look afar
Across the misty blue ; there Cherbourg stands—
A harbour and a fortress. Wealth and skill,
Wielded by pow'r, have wrought strange marvels there.
Behind yon massive, far-extended mole
Whole navies might ride safely. Ocean chafes
In vain, loud thund'ring at the massy bar.
Within yon arsenals, unmeasured stores
Of all war's engin'ry lie piled or ranged
Against the day of conflict. Not a spot
To which yon lengthen'd batt'ries cannot point
Their fire, and concentrate the iron hail.
Gigantic—awful—menacing it stands !
By tyrannous ambition first devised
Ere the Great Monarch knew Britannia's strength ;
Then by the first Napoleon's eager hate
(Peace to his mighty shade ! he rued his dream
Of conquest) with vast labour onward push'd—
An outwork against England. Now at length
It stands complete—a new Napoleon hails
The shrine of War, inaugurate in peace !
And thither is our own Victoria bound,
And thither tend the thousand sails, that gleam
Like floating lilies stirr'd by gales of June.
Ay ! let oppressors tremble—let Deceit
Nourish distrust—let Faction sow debate
And toil to sever what Good Faith has join'd—
A better spirit is at work to-day !
The sun is up—ill fare the envious mist !
The Island Queen goes forth to be a guest
With Him of France, who named his Empire, Peace !
Hark ! there be thunders from those pond'rous guns
Wakening the deep-voiced Echo—but they tell
Of welcome ; there be shoutings, but of joy
And gen'rous admiration. Not in vain
Oh ! best beloved Victoria! dost thou strow
The olive o'er yon bleak and threat'ning mounds
Of barren stone. A thousand tales of wrong—
A thousand bitter mem'ries of the past—
Grudges, of yesterday—nay, more than these,
Suspicions yet unborn—dissensions yet
Slumb'ring in embryo, shall pass away
And be forgotten; but this day's event,
The deep remembrance of this noble pledge
Of Faith and Amity, shall live, a bond
'Twixt France and Britain—knitting hearts together
By subtler magnetism than that which thrills
From world to world along the electric line
Beneath Atlantic billows. Peace ! sweet Peace !
Be this thy final triumph ! and the curse
Of utter scorn, of conscious impotence
On Gaul or Briton, who shall seek to mar
This sweet accord, and join with Cherbourg's name
Omens of blood, or promptings to revenge !

Blow softly, then, ye breezes! and thou sea
Smooth down thy billows for \victoria's path ;
Smile where she smiles, and when regretful France
Sighs an adieu, waft back our Bird of peace
With plumes unruffled to her Island nest !