The Royal Banquet.
by the hon. g--- b--- s---.
The Queen she kept high festival in Windsor’s lordly hall,
And round her sat the gartered knights, and ermined nobles all;
There drank the valiant Wellington, there fed the wary Peel,
And at the bottom of the board Prince Albert carved the veal.
“What, pantler, ho! remove the cloth! Ho! cellarer, the wine,
And bid the royal nurse bring in the hope of Brunswick’s line!”
Then rose with one tumultuous shout the band of British peers,
“God bless her sacred Majesty! Let’s see the little dears!”
Now by Saint George, our patron saint, ’twas a touching sight to see
That iron warrior gently place the Princess on his knee;
To hear him hush her infant fears, and teach her how to gape
With rosy mouth expectant for the raisin and the grape!
They passed the wine, the sparkling wine—they filled the goblets up;
Even Brougham, the cynic anchorite, smiled blandly on the cup;
And Lyndhurst, with a noble thirst, that nothing could appease,
Proposed the immortal memory of King William on his knees.
“What want we here, my gracious liege,” cried gay Lord Aberdeen,
“Save gladsome song and minstrelsy to flow our cups between?
I ask not now for Goulburn’s voice or Knatchbull’s warbling lay, [168]
But where’s the Poet Laureate to grace our board to-day?”