Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, VICTORIA (JUNE 22, 1893), by ARTHUR THOMAS QUILLER-COUCH


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

VICTORIA (JUNE 22, 1893), by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Queen! What is this that comes
Last Line: Stat matris gloria!'
Alternate Author Name(s): Q; Quiller-couch, A. T.
Subject(s): Sea; Victoria, Queen Of England (1819-1901); Ocean


'There was absolutely no panic, no shouting, no rushing aimlessly about.
The officers went quietly to their stations. Everything was prepared, and the
men were all in their positions....I can further testify to the men below in the
engine-rooms....In all the details of this terrible accident one spot especially
stands out, and that is the heroic conduct of those who to the end remained
below, stolidly yet boldly, at their place of duty.'—Captain Bourke's
Statement.

QUEEN! What is this that comes
Borne on thy rolling drums
At sunrise from the far
Syrian borders?
—Sped from the flags that fly
Half-mast at Tripoli,
Where float the ships of war,
Thy virgin warders?

Where tarries she who should
Captain that sisterhood,
Named with thy name, and own
Offspring of Victory?
Deep, eighty fathoms deep,
She, with her crew asleep,
Recks not the signal flown,
Vain, valedictory.

Not in Thy day of wrath,
Lord God of Sabaoth,
Nor upon rock or sand
Hemmed with Thy breath round;
But leading tranquilly
Upon a tranquil sea,
Swift at a sister's hand
Took she her death-wound.

So She, the stricken hull,
The doomed, the beautiful,
Proudly to Death abased
Her brow Titanic.
Praise now her multitude
Who, nursed in fortitude,
Stood and their burial faced,
Scorners of panic.

Fate, that to admirals,
Assigns their funerals,
To some the battle's ridge
Full-starred, to die on—
Took not the spirit proud
From him she less allowed.
—Upright upon the bridge,
Sank the brave Tryon.

Now for the seamen whom
Thy not degenerate womb
Bred thus to die for thee,
England, be tearless:
Rise, and with front serene
Answer, thou Spartan queen,
'Still God is good to me:
My sons are fearless.'

Back to the flags that fly
Half-mast at Tripoli,
Back on the sullen drum
Mourning Victoria,
Loud, ay, and jubilant,
Hurl thine imperial chant—
'In morte talium
Stat Matris gloria!'





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