, from sea to sea:
The whole land's welcome seem'd
The welcome of one man! a realm by thee

Deliver'd!--But the crowning hour of fame,
The zenith of a name
Is ours once only: and he, too just, too stern,
Too little Englishman,
A nation's gratitude did not care to earn,

On wider aims, not worthier, set:--A soul
Immured in self-control;
Saving the thankless in their own despite:--
Then turning with a gasp
Of joy, to his own land by native right;

Changing the Hall of Rufus and the Keep
Of Windsor's terraced steep
For Guelderland horizons, silvery-blue;
The green deer-twinkling glades,
And long, long, avenues of the stately Loo.

'William,' says his all too zealous panegyrist, 'never became an
Englishman. He served England, it is true; but he never loved her, and
he never obtained her love. To him she was always a land of exile,
visited with reluctance and quitted with delight. . . . Her welfare was
not his chief object. Whatever patriotic feeling he had was for Holland.
. . . In the gallery of Whitehall he pined for the familiar House in the
Wood at the Hague, and never was so happy as when he could quit the
magnificence of Windsor for his humbler seat at Loo:' (Macaulay: _Hist_.
ch. vii)

_One labouring breath_; William throughout life was tortured by asthma.

_Demon's russet coast_; Torbay.--_Capital of the garden-West_;
Exeter.--_Gracious spire_; Salisbury.--_Hall of Rufus_; The one
originally built by William II at Westminster.

THE CHILDLESS MOTHER

1700-1702

Oft in midnight visions
Ghostly by my bed
Stands a Father's image,
Pale discrowned head:--
--I forsook thee, Father!
Was no child to thee!
Child-forsaken Mother,
Now 'tis so with me.

Oft I see the brother,
Baby born to woe,
Crouching by the church-wall
From the bloodhound-foe.
Evil crown'd of evil,
Heritage of strife!
Mine, an heirless sceptre:
His, an exile life!

--O my vanish'd darlings,
From the cradle torn!
Dewdrop lives, that never
Saw their second morn!
Buds that fell untimely,--
Till one blossom grew;
As I watch'd its beauty,
Fading whilst it blew.

Thou wert more to me, Love,
More than words can tell:
All my remnant sunshine
Died in one farewell.
Midnight-mirk before me
Now my life goes by,
For the baby faces
As in vain I cry.

O the little footsteps
On the nursery floor!
Lispings light and laughter
I shall hear no more!
Ey