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And yet how much remains to do,
How much is left behind;
Young Daughter of a line of kings,
Much is to thee assigned.
Great changes have been wrought since first
The Roman legions stood
Beneath the ancient oaks that formed
The Druid's mystic wood.
Men crowded round the victim pyre,
In worship vile as vain;
And God's own precious gift of life
Was flung to him again.
We were the savages, of whom
We now can only hear;
The change has been the mighty work
Of many a patient year.
The progress of our race is marked,
Wherever we can turn;
No more the gloomy woods extend,
No more the death-fires burn.
The village rises where once spread
The inhabitable moor;
And Sabbath-bells sweep on the wind
The music of the poor.
The sun sinks down o'er myriad spires,
That glisten in the ray;
As almost portions of that heaven
To which they point the way."
How eloquently does the poet speak of the monarch's responsibilities:—
"Farewell unto thy childhood and for ever;
Youth's careless hours dwell not around a throne;
The hallowed purpose and the high endeavour,
The onward-looking thought must be thine own
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