University of Virginia Library


96

SONNET X
“IF EVER, ROUSED BY SOME INVADER'S TREAD”

If ever, roused by some invader's tread,
England awaketh from her centuries' sleep
And findeth with a heart-thrill strange and deep
That she must rise in earnest,—or fall dead;
If ever alien hands our harvests reap,
And our chalk roads are splashed with angry red,
And village houses riddled with fierce lead,—
While in the houses English women weep:—
If ever this be so, what chance have we?
Little: if our one friend who, ages long,
Has hemmed us in with walls of billows strong
Forsakes us,—lost through our own treachery.
Little: if we have hushed the warning song
Of pathless winds, and bridged the bridgeless sea.