The Poetical Works of Andrew Lang Edited by Mrs. Lang |
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 | The Poetical Works of Andrew Lang |  |
83
England
‘We are rather disposed to laugh when poets or orators try to conjure
with the name of England.’—Professor Seeley.
When Nelson's sudden signal came
Men's hearts leaped up the word to hail:
Not vainly with his England's name
He ‘conjured’, but to some avail!
When o'er the Birkenhead her fate
Closed, and our men arose to die,
The name of England yet was great,
And yet upheld their hearts on high.
Men's hearts leaped up the word to hail:
Not vainly with his England's name
He ‘conjured’, but to some avail!
When o'er the Birkenhead her fate
Closed, and our men arose to die,
The name of England yet was great,
And yet upheld their hearts on high.
For England's honour Gordon chose,
When England would not guard her own,
Serene amidst a world of foes,
Alone to live, to die alone.
But that great name, to Milton dear,
Of England's ocean-circled isle,
The voters greet it with a jeer,
The witling sniffs it with a smile.
When England would not guard her own,
Serene amidst a world of foes,
Alone to live, to die alone.
But that great name, to Milton dear,
Of England's ocean-circled isle,
The voters greet it with a jeer,
The witling sniffs it with a smile.
84
Well, if indeed that name no more
Must, like a trumpet, stir the blood;
Of all our fathers wrought and bore
For England, on the field and flood;
If naught endures, if all must pass,
Then speed the hour when we shall be,
Unmoved, unshamed beneath the grass,
Deaf to the mountains and the sea!
Must, like a trumpet, stir the blood;
Of all our fathers wrought and bore
For England, on the field and flood;
If naught endures, if all must pass,
Then speed the hour when we shall be,
Unmoved, unshamed beneath the grass,
Deaf to the mountains and the sea!
Deaf to the voices Wordsworth heard
Reverberant from height and deep;
Dull to the sights and sounds that stirred
Our fathers; heedless and asleep.
For so, at least, we shall nor hear
The noises from the Meetings borne,
Where England's children, with a sneer,
Hail ‘England’ as a word of scorn.
Reverberant from height and deep;
Dull to the sights and sounds that stirred
Our fathers; heedless and asleep.
For so, at least, we shall nor hear
The noises from the Meetings borne,
Where England's children, with a sneer,
Hail ‘England’ as a word of scorn.
| The Poetical Works of Andrew Lang | |