T H E  P O E M S  O F

W I L F R E D
C A M P B E L L



 


Sagas of Vaster Britain


 



Britain


GREAT patient Titan, ’neath thy wearying load
     Of modern statecraft, human helpfulness;
     To whom do come earth’s weak in their distress
To crave thine arm to avert the oppressor’s goad:
Thou sovereignty within thine isled abode,

5

     Hated and feared, where thou wouldst only bless,
     By fools who dream thine iron mightiness
Will crumble in ruin across the world’s wide road,—

Though scattered thy sons o’er leagues of empire’s rim,
     Alien, remote, by severing wind and tide;—

10

Yet every Briton who knows thy blood in him
     In that dread hour will marshal to thy side:—
And if thou crumblest earth’s whole frame will groan.
God help this world, thou wilt not sink alone!

 



Canada


THOU land for gods, or those of old
Whom men deemed gods, of loftier mould,

Sons of the vast, the hills, the sea:
Masters of earth’s humanity:

I stand here where this autumn morn

5

Autumnal garbs thy hills adorn,

And all thy woodlands flame with fire,
And glory of the world’s desire.  [Page 291]

Far northward lie thy purple hills,
Far vasts between, thy great stream fills,

10


Ottàwa, his fleet tides impearled,
From deep to deep, adown the world.

O land, by every gift of God
Brave home of freemen, let thy sod,

Sacred with blood of hero sires,

15

Spurn from its breast ignobler fires.

Keep on these shores where beauty reigns,
And vastness folds from peak to plains,

With room for all from hills to sea,
No shackled, helot tyranny.

20


Spurn from thy breast the bigot lie,
The smallness not of earth or sky,

Breed all thy sons brave stalwart men,
To meet the world as one to ten.

Breed all thy daughters mothers true,

25

Magic of that glad joy of you,

Till liberties thy hills adorn
As wide as thy wide fields of corn.

Let that brave soul of Britain’s race
That peopled all this vastness, trace

30


Its freedoms fought, ideals won,
Strength built on strength from sire to son.  [Page 292]

Till from thy earth-wide hills and seas,
Thy manhood as thy strength of trees,

Thy liberty alone compare

35

With thy wide winnowed mountain air,

And round earth’s rim thine honor glows,
Unsullied as thy drifted snows.

 



To the Canadian Patriot


THIS is the land of the rugged North; these wide,
Life-yielding fields, these inland oceans; these
Vast rivers moving seaward their wide floods,
Majestic music: these sky-bounded plains
And heaven-topping mountains; these iron shores,

5

Facing toward either ocean; fit home, alone,
For the indomitable and nobly strong.

In that dread hour of evil when thy land
Is rent with strifes and ground with bigotry,
And all looks dark for honor, and poor Truth

10

Walks cloaked in shadow, alien from her marts,
Go forth alone and view the earth and sky,
And those eternal waters, moving, vast,
In endless duty, ever rendering pure
Those mild or angry airs; the gladdening sun,

15

Reviving, changing, weaving life from death;
Those elemental uses nature puts
Her patient hours to; and then thou shalt know
A larger vista, glean a greater truth
Than man has put into his partial creeds

20

Of blinded feud and custom. Thou wilt know
That nature’s laws are greater and more sure,  [Page 293]
More calm, more patient, wise and tolerant,
Than these poor futile efforts of our dream;
That human life is stronger in its yearning

25

Than those blind walls our impotence builds between;
And underneath this calloused rind we see,
As the obedient tides the swaying moon,
A mightier law the whole wide world obeys,
And far beyond these mists of human vision

30

God’s great horizon stands out fixed and sure.

 



To the United States


O THOUSAND years of Britain’s pride,
One hundred of your own,
Of throbbing fires of liberty
Bred in your blood and bone;
O stalwart ’mid the nations

5

To-day alone you stand,
The fate and being of a world
Within your puissant hand.

And shall the scale say bloodshed,
Or shall the word be peace?

10

Shall brute and blind and cruel Force
Rule, or his thunders cease?
Shall man go back a century,
And dream an alien dream,
Of clashing arms, of sabre stroke,

15

Of leaguered shore agleam?
Or shall the world go forward
To wisdom and surcease
Of brutal strife, to the higher life
Of brotherhood and peace?  [Page 294]

20


O thousand years of Britain’s pride,
One hundred of your own,
Child of the greatest mother-stock
The world hath ever known;
Who hold within your honor,

25

Who keep athwart your pride,
The hope or wrecking of a world;
Hold back the bloody tide!
Show men that justice, patience,
Are nobler far than hate,

30

You with your million valiant hearts
Entrenched by each sea-gate.
You who could hurl the eastern world
Back into either sea,
Show, greater far than iron force,

35

’Tis peace that rules the free,
That far from western granite gates
Old battles’ smoke hath blown;
Thou thousand years of Britain’s pride,
One hundred of your own.

40

 



Responsibility


MAN is not evil when he stands alone,
     ’Tis in the aggregate he loses truth,
And builds him up life’s weakness by his ruth.
     No single conscience makes its brother moan.
     The slaving toiler withered to the bone,

5

The wasting age ere life hath garnered youth,
     No single soul hath done this; each and all
     We add a pebble to a mighty wall
That shuts this world from freedom and God’s truth.  [Page 295]





The Race


THIS mighty dream of the race!
     When, O when will it die?
When the magic of being burns from the blood,
     When the violet fades from the sky,
When the mother turns from her child,

5

     When the son his father spurns:—
And the blood of the mightiest race on earth
     To bloodless water turns.




The Answer


THEY whisper that you are dying,
     Mother of mine and me:
Like a sick old eagle crying
     Out of the northern sea:

But we answer, mother, O mother,

5

     Back to thy breast we come,
We of thy breed and seed and none other
     From the beat of the alien drum.

Loud was the new world song
     That wooed and beckoned and won;

10

Long was the day, and long
     The roads of water and sun;

But after the alien dream,
     After the alien tongue;—
Sweet to creep to the true, to the old,

15

     To the love that ever is young.  [Page 296]





England


     This poem was adapted to music and sung at the Coronation Bazaar as a greeting to the Queen as she entered.


ENGLAND, England, England,
     Girdled by ocean and skies,
And the power of a world and the heart of a race,
     And a hope that never dies.

England, England, England,

5

     Wherever a true heart beats,
Wherever the armies of commerce flow,
Wherever the bugles of conquest blow,
Wherever the glories of liberty grow,
     ’Tis the name that the world repeats.

10


And ye, who dwell in the shadow
     Of the century-sculptured piles,
Where sleep our century-honored dead,
While the great world thunders overhead,
     And far out, miles on miles,

15

Beyond the throb of the mighty town
     The blue Thames dimples and smiles;—
Not yours alone the glory of old
     Of the splendid thousand years
Of Britain’s might and Britain’s right

20

     And the brunt of British spears;—
Not yours alone, for the great world round,
     Ready to dare and do,
Scot and Celt and Norman and Dane,
With the Northman’s sinew and heart and brain,

25

And the Northman’s courage for blessing or bane,
     Are England’s heroes too.  [Page 297]

North and south and east and west,
     Wherever their triumphs be,
Their glory goes home to the ocean-girt Isle,

30

Where the heather blooms and the roses smile,
     With the green Isle under her lee.
And if ever the smoke of an alien gun
     Should threaten her iron repose,
     Shoulder to shoulder against the world,

35

     Face to face with her foes,
Scot and Celt and Saxon are one
     Where the glory of England goes.

And we of the newer and vaster West,
     Where the great war-banners are furled,

40

And commerce hurries her teeming hosts,
And the cannon are silent along our coasts;
Saxon and Gaul, Canadians claim
A part in the glory and pride and aim
     Of the Empire that girdles the world.

45


Yea, England, England, England,
     Wherever the daring heart
By arctic floe or torrid sand
     Thy heroes play their part;—
For as long as conquest holds the earth,

50

     Or commerce sweeps the sea,
By orient jungle or western plain
     Will the Saxon spirit be;
And whatever the people that dwell beneath,
     Or whatever the alien tongue,

55

Over the freedom and peace of the world
     Is the flag of England flung.

Till the last great freedom is found,
And the last great truth be taught,  [Page 298]
Till the last great deed be done,

60

And the last great battle is fought;
Till the last great fighter is slain in the last great fight,
     And the war-wolf is dead in his den,
England, breeder of hope and valor and might,
     Iron mother of men.

65


Yea, England, England, England,
     Till honor and valor are dead,
Till the world’s great cannons rust,
Till the world’s great hopes are dust,
     Till faith and freedom be fled;

70

Till wisdom and justice have passed
     To sleep with those who sleep in the many chambered vast,
Till glory and knowledge are charnelled, dust in dust;
     To all that is best in the world’s unrest
In heart and mind you are wed:—

75

While out from the Indian jungle,
To the far Canadian snows,
Over the east and over the west,—
Over the worst and over the best,
The flag of the world to its winds unfurled,

80

The blood-red ensign blows.

 



The World-Mother

(Scotland)


BY crag and lonely moor she stands,
     This mother of half a world’s great men,
And kens them far by sea-wracked lands,
     Or orient jungle or western fen.  [Page 299]

And far out ’mid the mad turmoil,

5

     Or where the desert-places keep
Their lonely hush, her children toil,
     Or wrapt in wide-world honor sleep.

By Egypt’s sands or western wave,
     She kens her latest heroes rest,

10

With Scotland’s honor o’er each grave,
     And Britain’s flag above each breast.

And some at home.—Her mother love
     Keeps crooning windsongs o’er their graves,
Where Arthur’s castle looms above,

15

     Or Strathy storms or Solway raves.

Or Lomond unto Nevis bends
     In olden love of clouds and dew;
Where Trosach unto Stirling sends
     Greetings that build the years anew.

20


Out where her miles of heather sweep,
     Her dust of legend in her breast,
’Neath agèd Dryburgh’s aisle and keep,
     Her Wizard Walter takes his rest.

And her loved ploughman, he of Ayr,

25

     More loved than any singer loved
By heart of man amid those rare,
     High souls the world hath tried and proved,

Whose songs are first to heart and tongue,
     Wherever Scotsmen greet together,

30

And, far-out alien scenes among,
     Go mad at the glint of a sprig of heather.  [Page 300]

And he, her latest wayward child,
     Her Louis of the magic pen,
Who sleeps by tropic crater piled,

35

     Far, far, alas, from misted glen;

Who loved her, knew her, drew her so,
     Beyond all common poet’s whim;—
In dreams the whaups are calling low,
     In sooth her heart is woe for him.

40


And they, her warriors, greater none
     E’er drew the blade of daring forth;
Her Colin* under Indian sun,
     Her Donald of the fighting North.

Or he, her greatest hero, he,

45

     Who sleeps somewhere by Nilus’ sands,
Grave Gordon, mightiest of those free,
     Great captains of her fighting bands.

Yea, these and myriad myriads more,
     Who stormed the fort or ploughed the main,

50

To free the wave or win the shore,
     She calls in vain, she calls in vain.

Brave sons of her, far severed wide
     By purpling peak or reeling foam,
From western ridge or orient side

55

     She calls them home, she calls them home.

And far, from east to western sea,
     The answering word comes back to her,  [Page 301]
“Our hands were slack, our hopes were free,
     We answered to the blood astir;

60


“The life by Kelpie loch was dull,
     The homeward, slothful work was done,
We followed where the world was full,
     To dree the weird our fates had spun.

“We built the brig, we reared the town,

65

     We spanned the earth with lightning gleam,
We ploughed, we fought, ’mid smile and frown,
     Where all the world’s four corners teem.

“But under all the surge of life.
     The mad race-fight for mastery,

70

Though foremost in the surgent strife,
     Our hearts went back, went back to thee.”

For the Scotsman’s speech is wise and slow,
     And the Scotsman’s thought it is hard to ken,
But through all the yearnings of men that go,

75

     His heart is the heart of the northern glen.

His song is the song of the windy moor,
     And the humming pipes of the squirling din;
And his love is the love of the shielding door,
     And the smell of the smoking peat within.

80


And nohap how much of the alien blood
     Is crossed with the strain that holds him fast,
’Mid the world’s great ill and the world’s great good,
     He yearns to the Mother of men at last.  [Page 302]

For there is something strong and something true

85

     In the wind where the sprig of heather is blown;
And something great in the blood so blue,
     That makes him stand like a man alone.

Yea, give him the road and loose him free,
     He sets his teeth to the fiercest blast,

90

For there’s never a toil in a far countrie,
     But a Scotsman tackles it hard and fast.

He builds their commerce, he sings their songs,
     He weaves their creeds with an iron twist,
And making of laws or righting of wrongs,

95

     He grinds it all as the Scotsman’s grist.


•          •          •          •          •          •          •          •


Yea, there by crag and moor she stands,
     This mother of half a world’s great men,
And out of the heart of her haunted lands
     She calls her children home again.

100


And over the glens and the wild sea floors
     She peers so still as she counts her cost,
With the whaups low calling over the moors,
     “Woe, woe, for the great ones she hath lost.”


* Colin Campbell, Hero of Lucknow. [back]
Sir Donald Mackay, 1st Lord Reay, whose Mackay Dutch Regiment was famous in the Thirty Years’ War. [back]

 



The Lazarus of Empire*


THE Celt, he is proud in his protest,
     The Scot, he is calm in his place,
For each has a word in the ruling and doom
     Of the empire that honors his race:  [Page 303]
And the Englishman, dogged and grim,

5

     Looks the world in the face as he goes,
And he holds a proud lip, for he sails his own ship,
     And he cares not for rivals nor foes;
But lowest and last, with his areas vast,
     And horizon so servile and tame,

10

Sits the poor beggar Colonial
     Who feeds on the crumbs of her fame.

He knows no place in her councils,
     He holds no part in the word
That girdles the world with its thunders

15

     When the fiat of Britain is heard;
He beats no drums to her battles,
     He gives no triumphs her name,
But lowest and last, with his areas vast,
     He feeds on the crumbs of her fame.

20


How long, O how long, the dishonor,
     The servile and suppliant place?
Are we Britons who batten upon her,
     Or degenerate sons of the race?
It is souls that make nations, not numbers,

25

     As our forefathers proved in the past,
Let us take up the burden of empire,
     Or nail our own flag to the mast.
Doth she care for us, value us, want us,
     Or are we but pawns in the game;

30

Where lowest and last, with our areas vast,
     We feed on the crumbs of her fame?  [Page 304]


* Written before the Boer War. [back]

 



Show the Way, England*


SHOW the way, England!
We are your children,
Pass us not by;—
Full five million
Children of Canada

5

True as of yore:—
Blood of your blood and
Core of your core;—
Speak not the treason,
Write not the lie,

10

Bred of the blood of you,
We are not alien,
     Pass us not by.

Show the way, England!
Not in your ignorance,

15

Passing your children
Over in silence,
Oblivion hurled;—
Buying the traitor,
Lauding the alien,

20

Will you build Empire,
Wide as the world;—
But by showing your
Children you love them,
Know them as kindred,

25

Blood of the one blood,
Where the wide wheelings
Of Empire are whirled.  [Page 305]

Show the way, England!
We will follow you,

30

We, whose fathers were
Victors with Wellington,
Masters with Nelson,
Under the old flag
That flapped at the Nile;

35

We late children
Of those intrepid,
Who, scaling the vast-heights,
Won you, with Wolfe,
Canada’s glorious

40

     Mile upon mile.

They, too, our brothers,
Loyal Canadian,
Valorous, chivalrous,
Sons of Montcalm;—

45

They are not alien,
Speak not the lie,
They, too, for Britain
Have died and will die;—
They are not alien,

50

Helot, out-cast,
But blood of the old blood,
Norman of William,
Victors at Hastings,
Builders of England,

55

Heirs of your wonderful,
     Glorious past.
Ocean or land, for you
They, too, will stand for you—
Show the way, England!  [Page 306]

60


Show the way, England!
Forward to justice,
Freedom and right,
Onward to glory and
Wisdom’s increase,

65

We will follow you,
Sons of the might of you,
Smokeward to battle
     Or sunward to peace.

Show the way, England!

70

Not in the bright hour,
But in the dark hour,
When the world threatens,
We are your sons;—
Not for the might of you,

75

Shelter and right of you,
Not for the paid-coin,
Not for your guns;—
But that we love you,
Suckled at breast of you,

80

You are our Mother!
     We are your sons!

Show the way, England!
And in the fated
Din of the battle,

85

Stand you alone;
Loyal Canadian,
Sons of the sons of you,
Back of the guns of you,
Bone of your bone;—

90

We will stand four-square,  [Page 307]
Rock of the rock of you,
Ribs of the steel of you;—
Darkness or light,
Let the world thunder;—

95

Ere you go under,
We will follow you,
     Might of your might!

Not of the alien,
We of old Scotland,

100

We of old England,
We of old Ireland,
We of old Normandy,
We are your sons;—
We are Canadian,

105

Helot to no one,
Freedom enfranchised
Heirs of this strand;—
We of old England,
We of old Ireland,

110

We of old Scotland,
We of old Normandy—
Britons, the sons of you,
Brand of your brand.

Show the way, England!

115

We are your children,
In peace or in battle
To conquer or die;—
We are not alien,
Speak not the insult,

120

Write not the lie;—
We whose fathers were
Thanes with Great Alfred,  [Page 308]
Loyal at Runnymeade,
Norman at Hastings,

125

Or Scotch at Lucknow;—
Speak not the treason,
Write not the lie,
Blood of the blood of you
Leaps in reply;—

130

Only be true to us,
Open your heart to us,
Lead you to danger,
To glory or night;—
We will follow you,

135

Blood of the blood of you,
Might of your might!—
     Show the way, England!

Show the way, England!
Let that grim master

140

Of earth’s dread disaster,
Let the war shadow
But darken your sun:—
Trust your child, Canada,
She will be with you,

145

Shoulder to shoulder,
Gun to your gun:—
She will reply with you,
Fight for you,
Die with you.

150

So wide to the world,
Be the old flag unfurled!
     Show the way, England!  [Page 309]


* Written in answer to a poem, “Show the Way, Canada,” printed in the London Spectator. [back]

 



The Children


OUT of the vasts of the world,
     From the beat of the alien drum,
Back from the wanderings far,
     Do the ancient children come.

Back from the isles of the east,

5

     Back from the sunset wall:
Calling Mother, soul of our soul,
     Do the ancient children call.

Back from the visions of toiling,
     Out from the dreams of gold,

10

From the endless striving and yearning
     The children return to the fold.

Back from the alien roads,
     Of ignis fatuus gleam,
Back to the mother, back to the home,

15

     Do the hearts of the children dream.

There is cry that the race is sinking,
     Breed of the Albion isle,
That the strong arm sinks, that the sinew shrinks,
     And the lie and the cheat beguile;

20


But we are your children, Mother,
     We at your breasts have fed,
We will not leave you, life of our life,
     Dead of our olden dead.  [Page 310]

Gather, as war clouds gather,

25

     Hordes of the world afar,
We are the deathless sons of the race,
     Stars of the olden star.

Sons of the ancient sunrise,
     Children of granite and dew:

30

We yet will drink of the dreams on your brink,
     Hills of the heather blue.

Reckon thy dead, O Albion,
     Reckon thy latest blood,
Sons of the strong, where the sunlight long

35

     Floods the round world in its flood:

Reckon on us, O Albion,
     Let the world’s jackals but spring,
We will be yours while earth endures,
     While earth and the earth-roots cling.

40


Strong is the flag, O Children,
     Whereunder your breed are born,
Strong is the love of the dwelling-place,
     And sweet is the homelight’s morn:

But stronger far yet is the race-tie,

45

     The kinships that kindle and bind,
And evermore true to the breed and the thew
     Are the sons of the world-old kind.

Yea, back to the ancient mother
     The earth-wide children yearn,

50

Who fared to achieve, to dream, to glean,
     To wrestle, to build, to learn.  [Page 311]

But as ashes the vast achievement,
     And weary the hearts that pray,
When the old blood dreams and the old love gleams

55

     In the hearts of the Far-away.

Back ’mid the world’s wide seething,
     Its witch-pot brew that boils:
Back from the buying and selling of earth
     From the chaos of battles and toils.

60


The hearts of the far-swept children
     To the ancient mother turn.
When the day breaks, when the hour comes,
     The world will waken and learn.

Not the one flag, not the two flags,

65

     But the blood that wakens and stirs:
The world may claim them, the world may name them,
     But the hearts of the race are Hers.

 



Briton to Briton:  An Appeal


WE have come to the ways, O Brothers,
     To the grim considering place;
And is it to be together,
     Or chaos, and end of the race?

We of the ancient people,

5

     We of the lion line;
Will a shoulder of earthhills hold us apart,
     Or billowy leagues of brine?  [Page 312]

We of the speech of Shakespeare,
     We of that breed of men

10

Who of old in earth’s stern battles
     Conquered as one to ten.

Is our world-wide task eternal?
     Ever new lands to win?
Is it trade forever and ever,

15

     And never a thought of kin?

Lands to northward and southward,
     Continents east and west,
Freed by our liberty, genius,
     Where alien peoples are blest!

20


Are we to scatter and scatter,
     Losing our olden dream;
And all for a curse of commerce and trade,
     An ignis fatuus gleam;

That men may say the Briton,

25

     The ancient race holds sway?—
But who are the rulers in truth, in right,
     And who are the conquered, pray?

The vote of the one man conquers
     Under this freedom of ours;

30

And north and south, and east and west,
     Slowly dwindle our powers.

Lost to our ancient manhood,
     The freedom our fathers had won;
Conquered slow by the alien vote,

35

     Under an alien sun.  [Page 313]

Is it evermore business, business,
     On to the end of time?
Are the markets our only Empire bonds?
     Is sentiment worse than a crime?

40


Is the freedom, the faith of Britain,
     To be sold and bartered away,
That our rulers may hold a spectre of power
     Over millions of acres of clay?

Are the centuried dreams of a people,

45

     Co-heirs of high dreaming and worth,
To be crushed and stifled for harbors
     On alien coasts of the earth?

Will it ever be business, business,
     Eternal markets to win;

50

Trade, and its curse forever,
     And never a thought of kin;

While the sons of the race are drifting
     Slowly and surely apart;
And the giant soul of a people is crushed

55

     In the greed of the world’s wide mart?

 



Canada*


ARE there none to speak and save?
          Canada, my own, my own.
From western peak to eastern wave?
          Canada, my own, my own.
Are there none to lift and save,

5

Must you sink in helot grave,
Crushed in gyve of thief and knave?
          Canada, my own, my own.  [Page 314]

Are there none to wake the dead,
O people unto grossness wed?

10

          Canada, my own, my own.
Must this cursèd trade go on,
Franchise but a bartered pawn,
Freedom, thought and honor gone?
Heaven strike or send a holier dawn

15

          To Canada, my own, my own.

Must the hideous tale be told?
          Canada, my own, my own.
Men like puppets bought and sold,
Freeman’s rights for place and gold?

20

          Canada, my own, my own.
Must this hideous lie go on?
Are we but degenerate spawn
Of a greater people gone?
          Canada, my shamed, dishonored own.

25


Canada, my own, my own,
Lie in the dust and make your moan,
Dishonored by those very ones
Who should have been your truest sons,
Like ship on surfs that overwhelm,

30

With some false captain at the helm,
          Canada, my own, my own.
Creep in the dust and make your moan;
To childish superstitions doomed,
Or in material greed entombed,

35

Your people sleep through sordid years
Of modern doubts and deeds and fears.
Lie in the dust and make your moan;
          Poor Canada, my own, my own.

O wherefore wonder when our life

40

Is all one shrunken party strife,  [Page 315]
When every question of the hour
Betrayed to greed of party power,
When every voice for truth is stilled,
Save that which party spake or willed.

45

With pandering pulpits, venial press,
God send redress, God send redress
To this poor human wilderness,
A people for high dreamings meant,
But damned by too much government.

50


O dream in vain your future power,
And build in vain your heart’s high tower;
          O Canada, my own, my own.
When you have sold the olden truth,
That greatness which inspired thy youth,

55

And bartered for a sordid gleam
The light of all your highest dream,
With all the gross, material strife
Of godless, money-hungered life,
          O Canada, my own, my own;

60

Your children, they have dragged you down
And trampled all your old renown,
As some base harlot of the town,
     O Canada, my own, my own.

O splendid dream of plain and lake,

65

When will you from this curse awake,
And with new-kindled honor take
Your place with those who guide the helm
Of Britain’s mighty people realm?
When will you, raised to that regard

70

Of self, above the market yard
Of life’s low levels, hold your share
In Britain’s mighty world-wide care?
          O Canada, my own, my own!  [Page 316]

O wide thy lands and wide thy sky,

75

          Canada, my own, my own!
But wider yet the living lie
That we have lived, my own, my own!
Let us arise from our old graves
Of self and ill, as o’er the waves

80

God’s dawn from night, to that which saves,
          Canada, my own, my own;
Rise and strike the shackles free
That bind us lip and heart and knee,
And be what God dreamed we should be,

85

          Canada, my own, my own.
          Loved Canada, my own!


* Written at a time when the Press of both parties was filled with accounts of gross political corruption. [back]

 



Victoria

(Jubilee Ode, A.D. 1897)


WITH thunder of cannon and far-off roll of drum,
And martial music blaring forth her glory,
’Mid miles of thronging millions down each street
Where all the earth is bound in one heart-heat,
The world’s great Empire’s greatest Queen doth come,

5

Borne on one mighty, rocking, earthquake voice
Wherein all peoples of wide earth rejoice—
She comes, she comes, to beat of martial drums,
And pageants blazoning England’s ancient story:
The good, gray Queen whose majesty and worth

10

Have lent their radiance to remotest earth;
While the splendor and might and power of her mighty empire          bound her;
And the serried millions, mad with joy, are near her,
All to love her, none to fear her,
But nearer far than power, than splendor dearer,

15

The surging love of her loved people round her.  [Page 317]

She comes, she comes, encircled by her people,
While praise to Heaven peals out from tower and steeple,
Into the great cathedral, hushed and dim,
With thankful heart and humble, queenly head

20

Over the sleep of England’s mighty dead,
To render up her heart’s best thoughts to Him,
The King of kings—’mid hush of priestly tread,
And gloried anthem’s solemn pealing hymn.
The mighty millions, awed, now bow the head,

25

Thank heaven for her simple, noble life.
Earth’s queenliest Empress, mother, daughter, wife!
Thank Heaven for all she held her dearest own!
Forgiveness for the weakness she hath known!
Blessings on her wise, old widowed head,

30

For what her life is now, and what her life hath been,
Noble mother, wife and Queen!

Let the mighty organs roll, and the mighty throng disperse!
She is ours, and we are hers.
And both are Britain’s.  Both to Britain’s God

35

Lift up the heart-felt praise for the might of splendid days,
For the glory that hath been.

Let the cannon thunder out, and the miles of voices shout:—
         Victoria!
Let the bells peal out afar, till the rocket tells the star,
And the ocean shouts its pæan to the thunder-answering bar:

40

England’s glory, Britain’s pride,
Revered of half a world beside,
O good, gray Queen, Victoria!  [Page 318]

Daughter of monarchs, mother of kings;
All her sorrows we have shared.

45

All her triumphs they are ours.
Kind Heaven, that virtue still endowers,
Be with her, may her path be flowers;
Be with her, may her days be spared!
Death aloof, with shadowing wings,

50

Unto nature’s latest hours!
Daughter of monarch’s, mother of kings.
O good, gray Queen, Victoria!

Let all feuds of faction die,
Let all blaring party bugles cease to blow,

55

Let insincere and base detraction lie,
With sore defeat and bitterness, her carping sisters, low,
In this one supremest hour,
Day of Britain’s ancient power,
Day of all her golden dower,

60

Of victory-towering centuries, tower on tower!
Let all hatreds be forgot,
All bitterness be swept away,
Remembering only the glory of our lot
In this century-honoring day!

65

Celt and Scot and Saxon, let us only know,
A mighty Queen comes to her own at last,
Her people’s love and reverence—as the glow
Of some splendid western heaven,
Deepening into richer even,

70

Ere it purples to the vast.

Past the mailèd gates of fears,
The hooded menace of the years,
Where rang the iron voices rolling on her ears,
Of royal dreams the requiem and pall;

75

And awful fates of thrones foredoomed to fall;  [Page 319]
Our agèd Queen, on this glad day she stands,
Amid the throbbings of her land’s great love,
Firm in her rule, her faith in God above.
Earth’s golden keys of happiness on her hands.

80

O splendid life of Britain’s splendid days!
O noble soul, above all blame or praise!
O fame that will outlast our little fame!
O long-enduring honor greater than time or death!
O name that will outlive even that immortal name,

85

England’s more ancient glory, the great Elizabeth!

And we, thy loyal subjects far away,
In these new lands that own thy sceptre’s sway,
Betwixt thy Royal Isle and far Cathay—
Across the thunder of the western foam,

90

O good, gray Queen, our hearts go home, go home,
To thine and thee!
We are thine own while empires rise and wane,
We are thine own for blessing or for bane,
And, come the shock of thundering war again,

95

For death or victory!

Not that we hate our brothers to the south,
They are our fellows in the speech of mouth,
They are our wedded kindred, our own blood,
The same world-evils we and they withstood,

100

Our aims are theirs, one common future good—
Not that we hate them, but that there doth lie
Within our hearts a golden fealty
To Britain, Britain, Britain, till the world doth die.

And him we send thee as our greatest son,

105

The people’s choice, to whose firm hand is given
The welfare of our country under heaven;
No truer son hast thou in all thy coasts,  [Page 320]
No wiser, kindlier, stronger, Britain boasts,
Our knightly leader, Norman in his blood,

110

But truest Briton in heart and speech and mind,
Beloved well of all his fellow-kind,
In statesmanship our nation’s highest mood,
Our silver-tongued and golden-hearted one.
In every inch and every thought a man,

115

Our noblest type, ideal Canadian!
Receive him, ’mid those, greatest, thou dost own.
Thy mighty empire-builders, bastioning round thy throne.

O England’s latest, greatest Queen,
Greatness more great than all her greatness that hath been,

120

Under thy sceptre the outmost continents hang,
And trackless oceans thunder out their surges.
These are thy realms.  Never in earth’s old story
Hath Queen of earthly realm owned such resplendent glory,
Not golden Homer such wondrous kingdoms sang;

125

Round earth’s wide girdle thy mighty empire verges,
Out-splendoring all prophecy of olden days.

Thou latest and greatest on that throne whose base
Withstood the shock of centuries, still withstands
The lowering hate of Europe’s iron bands,

130

In thy true keeping shall that sceptre be
A golden wand of happiness to the free
Who call thee Queen from outmost sea to sea,
That throne to them a mighty lighthouse tower,
A truth-compelling majesty of light

135

Blinding the mists of ignorance and night,
Where round its base throughout the centuries’ flight
Thunder in vain earth’s hosts upon its iron power.  [Page 321]

 



The Lament for the Chief

(On the late Duke of Argyll)


O HONE a rie!  O hone a rie!
Alas, great Cailen lieth now
Like stricken pine in Inverie!
The galley waits by lone Lochow
To bear where Kilmun’s sleep beguiles

5

The mighty chieftain of the isles.

He sleeps where glen and mountain blur,
And Caledonia rocks her pine;
Who, long and faithful, leal to her,
Great daughter of his royal line,

10

And true to Empire’s noblest cause,
Moulded her wisdom in her laws.

And o’er the doorways of his rest
The sign of lineal glory stands,
The galley of his ancient West,

15

To bear his soul to loftier lands,
Those isles of Scotland’s mighty soul
And splendors of her spirit’s goal.

There he will sleep in lordly dream
Until the last dread pibroch wakes

20

The centuried hush of glen and stream,
And far by misted hills and lakes,
Each plaided warrior grimly stands
At God’s dread gathering of the clans.  [Page 322]

There let him dream, as through his sleep,

25

Like mists that sweep by Ben Lui,
Or surge of Jura’s mighty deep,
The armies of the years go by,
In myriad visions of that vast
Of Scotland’s splendor, Scotland’s past.

30


Old sounds of far-heard battle call,
Or mountain-misted shieling song,
Or warder’s call from castle wall
Of right’s high challenge unto wrong;
Or that old fealty, man to man,

35

Of feudal chief and faithful clan.

Dreams he once more the mighty years
Of mailèd targe and ringing shield,
Of Scotland’s sorrow, Scotland’s tears,
For those of fatal Flodden’s field;

40

When ’mid mad wreck of Lord and Crown
All else save honor thundered down.

Or those old struggles for the right,
’Mid conquering truth and ancient wrong,
When Scotland, in her iron might,

45

Led forth her bannered hosts along,
In that unconquered spirit, stern,
Of Douglas, Bruce and Bannockburn.

O hone a rie!  O hone a rie!
Like mountain mist or drifted snow,

50

Through years of Scotland’s dream and dree,
The glories of her great dead go:—
And grief’s sad pibroch moans full sore
The memories of McCailen More.  [Page 323]

Aye, stilled for aye the mighty brain,

55

And hushed for aye the magic tongue,
Whose lofty accents ne’er again
Will thrill Westminster’s Halls among;
When, first of Britain’s barons, he
Spoke brave for truth and liberty.

60


O hone a rie!  O hone a rie!
No more the chieftain’s eye shall glow,
Hushed is his spirit’s minstrelsy;
The mighty fighter lieth low,
Who served his country, served his clan,

65

And fought to free his brother man.

And we his kinsmen severed wide,
Proud heirs of mighty O’Duin’s fame,
By every zone and wind and tide,
Who bear the ancient, storied name;

70

In heart respond to Argyll’s woe
For lofty Cailen lying low.

We, children of the royal house,
True to the blood whate’er befall,
In lineal dreams our hearts arouse,

75

Responsive to that ancient call,
By glen and misted mountain brow,—
Of Campbell; and the dread Lochow!  [Page 324]

 



Mafeking


MAFEKING, little Mafeking, the pride of the world goes down,
But thine the splendor of days to come, and honor of great          renown:
Little city of Afric wilds, bleak by thine Afric streams,
Unknown yesterday, to-day thou art great ’mid the world’s great          dreams.
Many a mighty onslaught, many a victor’s sweep

5

Of serried charge on chivalrous charge up some world-storied          sleep—
Many a splendid victory, great in the world’s renown;
But never a nobler, truer courage than held thee, little town!

Not thine the splendid onslaught, the victory sudden won;
The deed of valor done in a night, or under one glorious sun;

10

But thine the long, long waiting, the dying by slow degrees,
The sad, slow-eating horror of hunger and dread disease;
While the foe outside lay waiting, devils in men’s disguise,
With murderous hell of shot and shell, ’neath the murderous Afric          skies;
Many a deed of heroes, high in the world may shine,

15

But never a deed, O Mafeking, truer and greater than thine!

Town of thy towns, O Britain, which is thy greatest?  Say!
Is it thy great, grim London, gloried and storied and grey?  [Page          325]
Is it thy mighty seaport, crown of thy wealth’s great crown,
Whence unto the many ports of the world thy myriad ships go

20
         down?

Is it thy northern Athens, city of chivalrous fame,
With her great learned dead, her sainted tombs, her monarchs of          deathless name?
Are these thy glory, O Britain?  Thy splendors of peace are          these—
Marts of thy wonderful wealth of the world, thou mistress of          widespread seas!
But nearer than these and dearer to the heart of the Empire’s

25
         pride  

Is the little town of the splendid few where Britons for Britain          died—
Yea, greater by far and higher, for story and glory to come,
When the mighty names of the world are writ in the books of the          thunder of drum.

Dust, in thy great world city, the dead of thy great past sleep:
Storied and gloried in marble column, and honored of those who

30
         weep,  

Names of a centuried honor, lives of a world’s renown,
But none of them greater or truer than those who sleep in thy little          town!
Men and women and children, England, these were thine;
Hearts that knew one duty, to die but never repine!
To flight and to suffer for England, for the glory of England’s

35
         name!  

To fight and suffer and struggle, but never that one great shame,
To yield old England’s honor unto the world’s wide blame! 
[Page 326]

Weeks, long weeks of waiting, watching for succor to come;
To burrow in earth like rabbits, to wake to the thunder of drum;
Through months, long months, life-eating nights of fever and pain,

40

Days of watching and hunger borne with a brave disdain;
Bodies disease-racked, deathward, lips firm, fixed to the foe,
To send to the traitor’s “Surrender” the Briton’s thundering “No!”
To answer them back with their cannon to the last gun’s last grim          round,
As Britain his answered ever, afloat or greatly aground.

45

These be thy soldiers, O England!  Care for them, honor them,          thine!
Greater than bulwarks of granite or iron, thy bulwarks from brine          to brine!

Months that eked out slowly, as long-drawn miseries go;
Inside hunger and care and pain, outside the angering foe;
With grim death treading daily the streets of the little town,

50

Where gaunt-eyed sorrow in woman’s guise went patiently up and          down,
While near in the woman’s laager the children’s graveyard grew,
Headstone after headstone, till the toddling feet were few;
And hope deferred grew paler, as under the Afric sky,
Moment by moment, as drowning men sink, they watched their

55
         loved ones die.  [Page 327]  

This for thine honor, O England; and may thy heroes be few
To suffer the sorrows for thy great sake thy heroes of Mafeking          knew!

Bravely, as brave men ever, they bore up day by day,
Toiling to hold the city’s might and the evil foe at bay,
With the minute gun at morning their sole, dread matin bell,

60

And the hideous hum of the maiming shot their only funeral knell;
Till after months of slaughter, and famine, hunger and pain,
There broke on their ears the ringing shout of British cheers          again;
When bursting through the circling lines in the early morning’s          glow,
They beat the grim leaguerer back in defeat and conquered the          conquering foe.

65

Never such mad, wild cheering had the leaguered city known;
Never such laughing and shaking of hands in the streets of the          little town;
Never such solemn prayers to God as rose to Heaven that day
From lips of men who pray and fight as Britons fight and pray.
These be thy heroes, O England, these be thy brave sons, these,

70

Greater than bulwarks of granite or iron, thou mistress of world-          wide seas;
These be thy sons who come at thy call where the ends of the          wide earth meet;
These be thy sons to conquer and save, but never to know          defeat.  [Page 328]

Town of thy towns, O Britain, which is thy greatest?  Say!
Is it thy great, grim London, gloried and storied and grey?

75

Is it thy mighty seaport, crown of thy wealth’s great crown,
Whence unto the many ports of the world thy myriad ships go          down?
Is it thy northern Athens, city of chivalrous fame,
With her great learned dead, her sainted tombs, her monarchs of          deathless name?
Are these thy glory, O Britain?  Thy splendors of peace are

80
         these—  

Marts of thy wonderful wealth of the world, thou mistress of          widespread seas!
But nearer the these and dearer to the heart of the Empire’s pride
Is the little town of the splendid few where Britons for Britain          died—
Yea, greater by far and higher, for story and glory to come,
When the mighty names of the world are writ in the books of the

85
         thunder of drum.

 



Our Bit of “The Thin Red Line”


THEY have gone with a people’s hopes and prayers,
     Out over the eastern brine,
To strike for the might of Britain’s right,
     This bit of “the thin red line.”

And over our loyal land to-night,

5

     Where the stars of our freedom shine,  [Page 329]
 From all true hearts the prayer goes up
     For our bit of “the thin red line.”

They have gone to fight the freeman’s fight,
     For our far-off kith and kin;

10

Brothers of our own blood and breed,
     In the fight where the right must win:

For the sacred cause of freedom’s laws,
     To win the glad release
Of those who tread ’neath tyrannies dread,

15

     And widen the gates of peace.

We send them forth from our “True North,”
     For sacred bond and sign,
That well or ill, to the great brave end,
     We are Britons from brine to brine;

20


And whenever the Lion’s hunters are out,
     And danger threatens his lair,
Be the world on this side, he on that,
     Canadian hearts are there;—

And stand or fall, though we go to the wall,

25

     Canadian hearts are true,
No only to stand for our own birthland,
     But to die for the Empire too.

Yea, we send them forth, from our “True North,”
     Sons of the Empire’s might;

30

And alien the heart that will not pray
     For our soldier-boys to-night.

Yea, traitor the heart that takes our bread,
     And drinks our free sunshine,
That will not throb when the battle joins,

35

     For our bit of “the thin red line.”  [Page 330]

 



Return of the Troops

(Ottawa, November, 1900)


CANADIAN heroes hailing home,
     War-worn and tempest smitten,
Who circled leagues of rolling foam
     To hold the earth for Britain;

When rose War’s red and angry wraith,

5

     Duty and death before you;
Our pledge to Empire of our faith,
     You went and boldly bore you.

When late October, loath to die,
     His wintry strain had sung us;

10

You kissed fond lips, and dauntlessly
     Went marching from among us.

Your moment came; in letters large
     You retold Britain’s story;
At Paardeberg’s immortal charge

15

     You wrote our name in glory.

When sad November’s grief doth throw
     His autumn weird upon us,
You come returning with the glow
     Of all the fame you’ve won us.

20


We hear old Britain praise your name,
     The voice of Empire calling;
And glory leaps up as the flame
     Of red leaves lately falling;    [Page 331]

But O! the ones whose breasts are stilled,

25

     Past all our strife and yearning;
Whose hero hearts in earth are hilled,
     For whom is no returning;

For whom no morrow hath its birth,
     Or chapter of life’s story;

30

Who sleep far off in alien earth,
     Who died for Britain’s glory;

Who heard the call and bravely rushed
     Where shot and shell were flaming;
We think of them, and hearts are hushed,

35

     Amid the wild acclaiming;

We think of them, those voiceless ones,
     Whose absence speaks more loudly
Than all these gleaming ranks of guns
     Of victors marching proudly.

40


We think of them, and up along
     The miles of shouting madness,
The wild, glad surging, jubilant throng,
     A silence goes of sadness.

Yea, sadness, but exultantly;

45

     For though in earth beneath us,
In far-off, alien graves they lie,
     Our dead go marching with us.

Far, far in London’s mighty heart,
     Where life goes blindly thronging,

50

Leagues from the homes they loved, apart
     The land of all their longing.

In marbled columns, side by side,
     Britain—the glory-giver,  [Page 332]
With all her mighty dead who died,

55

     Will write their names forever;

Great, with the great of victories won
     From Waterloo’s red lava,
To that famed line that thundered on
     To death at Balaclava.

60


But here in their own loving north
     Where maples leaves are falling,
And all the nation’s heart goes forth
     Unto her great dead calling;

Her noble and her gallant sons,

65

     Beyond our mad to-morrow,
Will wait the last great matin guns,
     Enshrined in our high sorrow.

Higher than storied shaft above,
     Than gilded pomp’s acclaiming,

70

Ennobled in a people’s love,
     Past all heroic naming.

 



Crowning of Empire

(Ode written for the Coronation, in June, 1901)


THOU latest bloom of liberty-loving states,
Peerless, new-found, thou vast imperial flower,
Thou dream of patriots, golden possibility,
As yet untried, unweighed in fortune’s balance,
The hope of few, the wonder of the many,

5

Thou splendid pinnacle of human days,
Whereby earth’s aliens linked in speech and blood
And heart allegiance to one flag, one throne,  [Page 333]

One common dream of liberty and rule,
Do come together, one imperial whole,

10

In world-wide common amity of blood,
And equal vision, nursing one high resolve
Not to be crushed by this ignoble day,
Where many voices jargon many tongues,
And hatreds foiled, and superstitions dire,

15

Cloaked in poor freedom’s many-chequered garb,
Do crouch and snarl and wait to strike thee down.

In this auspicious, high imperial June,
This month of summer yearning to his tide,
And all divine emotions of the year,

20

’Tis meet that in that centre of world-force,
That arbiter of destinies obscure,
Where all the glowing, blossoming Junes do meet,
Of world-ambitions, on whose golden reefs
Do break the mighty beatings of the world,

25

That there from whence her myriad sons went out,
To build, to fight, to conquer or repel,
Back to her strength her conquering sons return.

From all those lands of alien summers and suns,
Of winters and despairings nobly met,

30

Her hosts of children now return once more,
Her wide imperial hosts, with symbols dear,
Of silvern links of blood and golden speech,
To crown her empire when she crowns her king.
Not mine to praise where many falsely laud,

35

And in high-sounding numbers ape the strain
Of some divine Apollo; rather my task
Of admonition to those, loyal, who read
Impending danger yet are wisely strong;
Who in the sunlight know the black’ning storm,

40

And build the safety ’gainst the coming ill.  [Page 334]

Yea, would I rather raise prophetic voice,
Amid this majesty and high acclaim,
This vast supreme laudation of a world,
To warn this greatness ’gainst her possible doom,

45

Lest tranced in dreams of far, earth-circling rule,
Her very vastness, wide, imperial power,
Do house a frailty that may thrust her down,
Crushed in ruin wide by her immense
Titan-like shoulders, whereon heavy, outspread,

50

God-like Responsibility ever broods,
Pondering on the miseries of this world.

Iron-welded, O my people, Saxon, Celt,
Victorious Northmen, strenuous, masterful,
Not to be strangled in time’s ocean flood,

55

Sucked down in vortex of old ruin dire,
But to remain, contend, depose and rule,
Till earth’s white morn outflames her latest night,
And freedom breaks in gold about the world.

This thine old spirit, mighty, undismayed,

60

High, self-sustaining, individual, free,
Protesting ever, fronting creeds of dark,
Denouncing ever the old despotic lie,
Rending the veils of doubt ’twixt God and man,
Reading the morning in the ancient stars,

65

And the mind’s vastness in the spirit’s wars.

From London’s smoke of commerce blackening down,
Her mighty abbeys and her centuried town,
Her million toilers and her master minds,
Her fleets of commerce swept to every wind,

70

Whence went her myriads who in shores remote
Rebuilt her greatness, echoed her vast heart,
World-throbbing in its grim immensity,  [Page 335]

To mighty vasts of lone Australian wilds
And bleak Canadian woods, the cradles grim

75

Of Saxon iron and of Celtic gold;
Out round the world where’er blue ocean breaks,
’Mid temperate climes or fevered tropic lands,
Or Arctic wastes, her strong, indomitable sons
Do crush defeat and make this earth their own,

80

Determining all, moulding the world’s best dream
Of strife and life and liberty of man.

From where soft-lipped, blue Mediterranean laves
In summer ripples Mediterranean strands,
To where iron-bound, fog-mantled Labrador

85

Juts out to lonely, lost Atlantean glooms,
The iron glove of empire, tempered, firm,
Doth hold in grasp the welfare of the world.
Quebec, Gibraltar, herculean gates,
Grim portals each of old and new world power,

90

Anchors of that vastness of her dream,
Reaching round the wide-ribbed, shouldered earth,
The shining ocean and the desert’s span,
A power peace-yearning, glad, beneficent,
This younger Rome of this imperial day,

95

Beaconing liberty, conquering to redeem.

This her sole dream, look that she lose it not,
As tranced in toil, heavily-wheeled, she turns
Like some vast planet on its cloudward wing,
Callous of danger, strong in high resolve,

100

Half conscious of her might, fulfilling good,
Unto the conquering ultimate of her end.
Yea, not to praise, but rather to arraign,
Lest she in folly let her dream lie down,
And all her ancient, mighty power depart,

105

And all her majesty of light become
A ruined furnace from whose smouldering gleam  [Page 336]

The younger nations haply steal a spark
To light their lesser, late decadent fires
Of national ardors: lest in her too credulous,

110

O’ermastering love of human liberty,
She let the evil in in guise of good,
The tyrant ’neath her freedom nurse his power
And suckle the serpent at her loyalty’s breasts,
That ancient enemy of all her days,

115

To use her liberty to strike her down;

Lest she, forgetting how the fathers fought
And strove and lived and died for her great cause,
And in her dream of madness compromise
Her truth, her light, for fancied rule and power,

120

Where no power lies, no loyalty, but a cloak,
False and cunning, covering subtlest dream
To rise and rend her doth a danger come;

Lest she in all this greatness on her laid,
This earth-wide, vast, imperial mantle, stained

125

With blood of those who loved her, gave her all,
Not recking save that they did love her, died
That she might live, and spread that mantle vast
To outmost rim of despot-burdened earth:
Lest she ’mid all this pageant, glad, forget

130

Her one high dream: her steadfast sons forget,
On whom alone, in that inevitable hour,
Which comes alike to nations and to men,
True Britons, loyal, she may place her trust.

This my note in this imperial hour,

135

This high, auspicious, world-compelling day;
When cohorts from earth’s alien peoples meet,
And East greets West in challenge, high, of power,
And all the world-wide splendor gathered far,
In tribute meet to earth’s imperial king.  [Page 337]

140


Yea, this my note, remembering empire’s bounds
Not larger than the loyalty that upholds;
Not wider than the speech that makes us one;
Not greater than the pride of olden dreams,
Of common blood, of common faith and song.

145


For vain the splendor and the freedom vast,
And vain the iron power that makes it sure,
And vain the mighty toil that would endure
If love be not the anchor that withstands.

For earth is worn of conquest-sanguined states,

150

And bloody wars for base, material ends,
Of blatant voices calling unto strife:
Only the calm and patient will remain,
Only the noble effort will endure.

And he, Imperial Edward, august son

155

Of her who, gracious, noble, held so long
Her people’s fealty: he who stands for all
This vast, earth-circling rule, beneficent,
This power that makes for freedom round the world,
Whose rule is one with those wise, ancient laws

160

Of mighty Alfred; that rare golden speech
Of Shakespeare made immortal, liberty
Loved of Scot and Saxon where’er wide
Love’s golden bonds of kinship gird the world:—
Yea, he, our august monarch, may his rule

165

Be splendid, fruitful, may his days be spared
To golden out to mellowed olden age
To rule us happy, with his noble Queen.

And we, true steadfast Britons, severed wide,
Where ever Orient skies, hyperion star

170

Shine on the mighty pulsings of the world,
Keep we the loyalty to our speech and blood,
Brother with brother, kindred peoples set
About the base of one imperial throne.  [Page 338]

 

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