Men whispered that our arm was weak, And that our hearts no longer speak But let the spear and sword draw near The sleeping lion's den, His island shore shall start once more To life with armed men. England, stand fast; let heart and hand be steady; Herman Charles Merivale [1806-1874] "OF OLD SAT FREEDOM ON THE HEIGHTS" From "On a Mourner" Of old sat Freedom on the heights, There in her place she did rejoice, Then stepped she down through town and field To mingle with the human race, And part by part to men revealed Grave mother of majestic works, Who, God-like, grasps the triple forks, Her open eyes desire the truth. The wisdom of a thousand years That her fair form may stand and shine, Make bright our days and light our dreams, Turning to scorn with lips divine The falsehood of extremes! Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892] AN ODE IN IMITATION OF ALCÆUS WHAT Constitutes a State? Not high-raised battlement or labored mound, Thick wall or moated gate; Not cities proud with spires and turrets crowned; Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride; Where low-browed baseness wafts perfume to pride. With powers as far above dull brutes endued In forest, brake, or den, As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude, Men who their duties know, But know their rights, and, knowing, dare maintain; Prevent the long-aimed blow, And crush the tyrant while they rend the chain:- And sovereign Law, that State's collected will, Sits empress, crowning good, repressing ill. Smit by her sacred frown, The fiend, Dissension, like a vapor sinks; And e'en the all-dazzling Crown Hides his faint rays, and at her bidding shrinks. Such was this heaven-loved isle, Than Lesbos fairer and the Cretan shore! Shall Britons languish, and be men no more? Since all must life resign, Those sweet rewards which decorate the brave 'Tis folly to decline, And steal inglorious to the silent grave. William Jones [1746-1794] ENGLAND, 1802 O FRIEND! I know not which way I must look Plain living and high thinking are no more: II Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour: Of inward happiness. We are selfish men; And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea: Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, So didst thou travel on life's common way, In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart III Great men have been among us; hands that penned And tongues that uttered wisdom-better none: The later Sidney, Marvell, Harrington, Young Vane, and others who called Milton friend. In splendor: what strength was, that would not bend No single volume paramount, no code, No master spirit, no determined road; IV It is not to be thought of that the flood Which spurns the check of salutary bands,- Should perish; and to evil and to good Be lost for ever. In our halls is hung Armory of the invincible Knights of old: We must be free or die, who speak the tongue Of Earth's first blood, have titles manifold. V When I have borne in memory what has tamed Now, when I think of thee, and what thou art, Verily, in the bottom of my heart, Of those unfilial fears I am ashamed. For dearly must we prize thee; we who find William Wordsworth [1770-1850] "ENGLAND, MY ENGLAND" WHAT have I done for you, England, my England? What is there I would not do, With your glorious eyes austere, Round the world on your bugles blown! Where shall the watchful Sun, England, my England, Match the master-work you've done, England, my own? When shall he rejoice agen Such a breed of mighty men As come forward, one to ten, To the Song on your bugles blown, Down the years on your bugles blown? Ever the faith endures, England, my England: "Take and break us: we are yours, England, my own! |