 | English Roses |  |
CURSE OF COMPULSION.
We English born of gallant sires
Who lived for liberty and fought,
And wrung their charters from the fires
Where they themselves were grander wrought,
We who have breathed a purer air
And drunk in strength from deeper springs,
To build this empire far and fair,
Will brook no idle tamperings.
Heap on us burdens at your will,
O rulers of a day or night,
And batten on our plenty still—
But do not touch our ancient right.
Who lived for liberty and fought,
And wrung their charters from the fires
Where they themselves were grander wrought,
We who have breathed a purer air
And drunk in strength from deeper springs,
To build this empire far and fair,
Will brook no idle tamperings.
Heap on us burdens at your will,
O rulers of a day or night,
And batten on our plenty still—
But do not touch our ancient right.
We English have a rugged way,
Of acts that speak with thunder voice;
And as the potter moulds his clay,
We break the creatures of our choice.
Sometimes we kick at bars and laws
And shatter things to primal shade,
When tides that carry States as straws
Engulf the idols they have made.
Spare not the taxes which we rue,
And grind our faces in the dust;
But trifle not with freedom's due,
Or touch our old and honoured trust.
Of acts that speak with thunder voice;
And as the potter moulds his clay,
We break the creatures of our choice.
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And shatter things to primal shade,
When tides that carry States as straws
Engulf the idols they have made.
Spare not the taxes which we rue,
And grind our faces in the dust;
But trifle not with freedom's due,
Or touch our old and honoured trust.
We English love the sacred tome,
Wherein each deed of title lies;
We bear no stranger in the home,
Nor meddling with our liberties.
Force has a hateful sound to hearts
That never stooped to foreign foe,
And choose to play the nobler parts,
Whate'er the sacrifice or woe.
We are the children of the free,
And guard the fortress of the truth;
O let the tried foundations be,
Nor touch the bulwarks of our youth.
Wherein each deed of title lies;
We bear no stranger in the home,
Nor meddling with our liberties.
Force has a hateful sound to hearts
That never stooped to foreign foe,
And choose to play the nobler parts,
Whate'er the sacrifice or woe.
We are the children of the free,
And guard the fortress of the truth;
O let the tried foundations be,
Nor touch the bulwarks of our youth.
We English without favour do
The upright thing, like sire and son;
And hold our persons precious too,
Surrendered at the call of none.
We deem these charters are our own,
Gained by the service of the sword—
Through blood and tears to greatness grown,
And fear no Master but the Lord.
We grudge not treasure or our toil,
Ye rulers of a moment stage;
But, if our very lives be spoil,
Touch not the solemn heritage.
The upright thing, like sire and son;
And hold our persons precious too,
Surrendered at the call of none.
We deem these charters are our own,
Gained by the service of the sword—
Through blood and tears to greatness grown,
And fear no Master but the Lord.
We grudge not treasure or our toil,
Ye rulers of a moment stage;
But, if our very lives be spoil,
Touch not the solemn heritage.
| English Roses | |