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To be, for one enchanted hour,
In beauty, majesty, and power,
What you for forty years have been,
The Oberon of life’s fairy scene.

An anxious city sought and found you
In a blessed day of joy and pride,
Sceptred your jewelled hand, and crowned
Her chief, her guardian, and her guide.
Honors which weaker minds had wrought
In vain for years, and knelt and prayed for,
Are all your own, unpriced, unbought,
Or (which is the same thing) unpaid for.
Painfully great! against your will
Her hundred offices to hold,
Each chair with dignity to fill,
And your own pockets with her gold:
A sort of double duty, making
Your task a serious undertaking.
With what delight the eyes of all
Gaze on you, seated in your Hall,
Like Sancho in his island, reigning,
Loved leader of its motley hosts
Of lawyers and their bills of costs,
And all things thereto appertaining,
Such as crimes, constables, and juries,
Male pilferers and female furies,
The police and the polissons,
Illegal right and legal wrong,