 | Three Hundred Sonnets |  |
104
ALFRED.
All hail our own, our ancient peerless boast!From thee thy Britain loves her all to date,
Proud of her ‘Darling King,’ the ever-great,
Who pour'd the liberties we value most,
The sacred old-time rights we venerate,
In rich abundance round our sea-girt coast:
Where is thy Tomb among us? where the spot
Ennobled by some record of thy worth,
True father of thy country?—have we lost
All love of thee? hath England then forgot
Her patriot-prince, her lawgiver, her sage,
Who taught her, nourish'd her, and sent her forth
Rejoicing on her way, from age to age
Queen of the seas, and Empress of the earth?
| Three Hundred Sonnets | |