 | The Collected Poems of T. W. H. Crosland |  |
81
A Song of Pride for England
I
Lo, the stark heavens are stirred:He cometh, plumed and spurred,
To say the undaunted word,
England!
With high and haughty breath
He hails the hordes beneath;
This hath he for their teeth—
“England again!”
II
King George in London Town,Sweareth our own's our own:
Whose might shall pluck us down,
England?
Glories of slaughtered hosts,
Splendours of English ghosts
Beckon us from our coasts,
England again!
82
III
Shrewd, on our world of seas,Waketh at dawn a breeze
Singing bold melodies,
England!
Rose-red the long day falls,
And the frore night wind calls
To our proud Admirals,
“England again!”
IV
Our Ensign flutters stillOn the unshaken hill;
Our Bugle vaunteth shrill,
England!
What of the heathen draff?
They are as burning chaff,
Into their eyes we laugh,
England again!
V
Death in his charnel-house,Rage and the Devil's spouse
Hate—ruffle not your brows,
England!
83
Bred of great motherhood,
Suckled on ancient good—
“England again!”
VI
You shall be steel and ice,Stronger than love, and thrice
Stricken for sacrifice,
England!
You shall bow to the flail,
The hammer and the nail,
And perish—and prevail,
England again!
VII
While this our little landHath a man-child to stand,
He shall lift up his hand,
England,
To smite the accursèd bars:
Out of the din of wars
He shall shout to the stars,
“England again!”
84
VIII
Troop you from field and fold,Market and shop of gold;
Let the full tale be told,
England!
Time beats his pitiless drum,
Fate's at her iron loom,
For the New Earth, or Doom—
England again!
| The Collected Poems of T. W. H. Crosland | |