Edwardian and Georgian Canadian Poets
17th Dec 2013Posted in: Edwardian and Georgian Canadian Poets 0
Poems of the Love of Country

[4 blank pages]

Principal, Collegiate Institute, Strathroy

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Shakespeare   11


Shakespeare   12


Thomson   12


Cowper   13


            Cowper   15


Burns   16


Wordsworth   17


Sir Walter Scott   18


Montgomery   19


Thomas Campbell   20


Thomas Campbell   21


Moore   24


Moore   25


Hemans   26


Gilfillan   27


Macaulay   28


Tennyson   33


Tennyson   33


Tennyson   34


Tennyson   36


Tennyson   40


Browning   41


Browning   42


Clough   43


Morris   43


Watson   50


Watson   50


Doyle   51


Doyle   52


Doyle   54


Newbolt   56


Newbolt   58


Newbolt   59


Kipling   60


Kipling   62


Kipling   64


Kipling   65


Sangster   66


Sangster   68


McGee   69


McGee   72


Curzon 73

[unnumbered page]



Reade   75


Crawford   76


C. G. D. Roberts   77


C. G. D. Roberts   78


C. G. D. Roberts   80


W. Wilfred Campbell   83


W. Wilfred Campbell   86


F. G. Scott   90


Joseph Howe   91


Drummond   93


Drummond   94


Drummond   95


Blewett   95


Theodore Roberts   98


Theodore Roberts   100


Stringer   101


Begbie   102


Hopkinson   105


                                                        Key   106


Smith   108


Hemans   109


Longfellow   111


Whitman   112


Julia Ward Howe   113


Finch   114


Bennett   116


                                                    Thomas   118


Sherman   119


Carey   121


Drummond   122


Boulton   124


                                                      Muir   125


De Lisle   126


Schneckenburger   127


Schneckenburger   129


Haschka   130


Haschka   131


Haschka   133


Haschka   135


Haschka   136


Minding   137


Minding   138


Redgeb Pacha   139


Redgeb Pacha   141


Redgeb Pacha   142

[unnumbered page]


   IT was old Andrew Fletcher of Saltoun who said, in a letter to the Marquis of Montrose, that if a man were permitted to make all the ballads, he need not care who should make the laws of a nation.  To fortify this statement we need not go back to the days of the Greek schoolmaster, Tyrtæus, who by his songs led the Spartans to victory, and who views for fame with their great lawgiver Lycurgus himself.  In these modern days, Kipling, our Imperial bard, perhaps exercises a wider sway over the minds and hearts of Britons than any contemporary law-maker however great.

Old Andrew Fletcher’s “ballads” are, of course, not ballads in the modern sense of the term, but rather national ballads, and particularly national songs.  As such songs have a power beyond all others they naturally live a long and glorious life.  Our British national anthem, written by an obscure poet in honour of a royal birthday, a song destitute of poetic phrases or of any of the subtle graces of poetry, has survived the vicissitudes of more than a century and a half, and bids fair to live for many ages.  The Star-Spangled Banner was also the product of a special occasion, and was written by one who wrote nothing else of permanent value; still, after nearly a hundred years it can excite an American audience to enthusiastic plaudits, or an American army to doughty deeds on the field of battle.

National songs are not necessarily great poems.  In [unnumbered page] fact, very few such songs rank high as literature.  The appeal to the popular heart, certainly the appeal to the rugged nature of the average soldier, must be simple and direct and charged with national sentiment.  Some of our national songs transgress the elementary laws of rhythm and even of rhyme, and still they have sovereign power over multitudes by virtue of some compelling quality which the literary critic can with difficulty comprehend.  No doubt many of these songs are floated and carried along down the years by the attractiveness of the airs to which luckily they have been wedded.

Many of the poems in this book breathe a spirit of war.  By actual count it will be found that over fifty of them sing of battle and bloodshed and victory, of whistling bullet and roaring cannon, of blaring trumpets and shrilling bagpipes.  Nor is this strange, when we consider that the origin and permanence of a nation’s life have nearly always depended upon deeds of national valour.  Many of these national songs have, indeed, been written under the glow of an inspiration produced by national victories or under the influence of the stirring exaltation experienced amid the storm and stress of war.  The teacher will find no difficulty in firing the martial spirit of his pupils.  The hereditary fighting instinct lies dormant in nearly all and can readily be aroused.  A more difficult task will be the teaching of another kind of patriotism, — the patriotism of peaceful pursuits, honourable lives, of obedience to law.  The young should learn the lesson that a man may prove his patriotism as well at home as on the battlefield.  Some one as well said, “It is harder to live for one’s country than to die for it.”

There is one feature that the national song must [page 6] have to be throroughly successful; it must be boldly distinctive and exclusive.  The poet exalts his own country and depreciates, if he does not malign, all other nations.  Our British anthem gives no uncertain sound: —

Confound their politics,
Frustrate their knavish tricks.

Nor does the Marseillaise Hymn temper its diction: —
Shall hateful tyrants mischiefs breeding,
With hireling hosts, a ruffan band, etc.

Even Tennyson, the apostle of moderation, who tells us to cut prejudice against the grain, when it comes to a matter of patriotism can be as exclusive as the most insular patriot could desire: —
There is no land like England, where’er the light of day be;
There are no hearts like English hearts, such hearts of oak as they be.

This exclusiveness, this positiveness, is of the very essence of the national lyric, and without it patriotic poetry would have no reason for existence.

It will furnish an interesting study to examine the national characteristics which ooze out from the various national songs.  A comparison of our own God Save the King with the Marseillaise Hymn and Hail Columbia will lead to some interesting results.  England, France, and America speak there in unmistakable tones the national sentiments usually ascribe to these nations.  In the Japanese battle-song, Ima Toki Naru Zo, the oriental spirit of Nippon breathes everywhere.

The New Regulations of the Education Department of Ontario make such a volume as the present a desideratum in the schools.  In the programme of studies [page 7] we find that patriotism is to be inculcated directly or indirectly by the teacher.  Didactic talks on love of country are apt to prove inane and ineffective, just as parental advice to children on love of parents is usually valueless.  A child will love his parents if they are worthy of his love.  So the pupils of our schools will learn to love their country with a spontaneous and intelligent love when their fund of knowledge is big enough to make them comprehend the greatness and glorious destiny of their country.

Some may doubt the wisdom of including in a volume intended chiefly for schools the patriotic poems of other than British sentiment.  Twenty-five years ago no editor would have faced the odium that such a proceeding would have provoked.  But the spirit of this age has become more liberal and generous in matters educational as well as in matters civil and religious.  While we maintain that a man’s “first, best country ever is at home.” we must be prepared to admit that some portion of the favour of the Giver of all good has been conferred on the rest of mankind.  While we may loyally “cast a long look where England’s glories shine” we must not forget to throw our eyes in other directions.  Our patriotism must be of that sturdy kind which grows best in broad areas and under the stress of opposing forces.  Too much of the patriotism of the past has been mere bigotry and selfish exclusiveness.  If wars are ever to cease, there must grow up among the nations a better understanding of one another’s sensibilities.  We do, indeed, belong to an empire that leads the nations of the world in clearness of international vision and in scrupulous regard for the amenities of international intercourse.

Regarding the arrangement of the poems in this [page 8] book little need be said.  The method of grouping that has been employed will commend itself.  Within each group chronological considerations have mainly determined the order.  It is fitting that the first patriotic voice in the volume should be that of our Master Poet; and that the last should be a strain from that wonderful Island Race which is proving herself to be a worthy ally of the great Island Race whence Canadians are sprung.

At the present crisis of Canadian history, when we are assuming our place among the nations of the world and have become the cynosure of other lands, it is proper that the pupils of our schools should become well acquainted with our patriotic songs.  It would be a mere platitude to speak of the vastness of our country and the richness and variety of our resources.  Every schoolboy knows of these things.  What is to be aimed at by the teachers of the Dominion is to give those under their charge the enthusiastic spirit which those who know our country best have not failed to catch.  This “Introduction” cannot end with more suitable words than those spoken to Canadians by a great Irishman a quarter of a century ago, and those spoken only yesterday by the Premier of Canada.  Lord Dufferin, the eloquent, a few days before he left our shores, exclaimed:  “Love your country, believe in her, honor her, work for her, live for her, die for her.  Never has any people been endowed with a nobler birthright or blessed with prospects of a fairer future.”  Sir Wilfrid Laurier in his great speech delivered recently in Toronto declared:  “The twentieth century shall be the century of Canada.  Canada shall be the star towards which all men we love progress and freedom shall go.”

J. E. W. [page 9]

Grateful acknowledgements are rendered to the many authors or their representatives who have upon request readily given permission to publish poems and extracts.  Special thanks are due to Mr. Rudyard Kipling for his good wishes; the publishers trust that his hopes as to the use of his poems in Canadian schools will be fulfilled. [unnumbered page]



     THIS royal throne of kings, this scepter’d isle,
     This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
     This other Eden, demi-paradise,
     This fortress, built by Nature for herself
5   Against infection and the hand of war,
     This happy breed of men, this little world,
     This precious stone set in the silver sea,
     Which serves it in the office of a wall
     Or as a moat defensive to a house,
10 Against the envy of less happier lands,
     This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this Eng-
     This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,
     Fear’d by their breed, and famous by their birth,
     Renowned for their deeds as far from home,
15 For Christian service and true chivalry,
     As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry
     Of the world’s random, blessed Mary’s son,
     This land of such dear souls, this dear, dear land.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.[unnumbered page]


THIS England never did, nor never shall,
Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror,
But when it first did help to wound itself.
Now these her princes are come home again,
Come the three corners of the world in arms,
And we shall shock them:  naught shall make us rue,
If England to itself do rest but true.


    WHEN Britain first at Heaven’s command
     Arose from out the azure main,
     This was the charter of the land,
     And guardian angels sung this strain:
5   Rule, Britannia!  rule the waves!
     Britons never will be slaves.

     The nations not so blest as thee
        Must in their turns to tyrants fall,
     While thou shalt flourish great and free
10     The dread and envy of them all.
     Rule, Britannia!  rule the waves!
     Britons never will be slaves!

     Still more majestic shalt thou rise,
        More dreadful from each foreign stroke;
15 As the bud blast that tears the skies
        Serves but to root thy native oak. [page 12]
     Rule, Britannia!  rule the waves!
     Britons never will be slaves!

     The haughty tyrants ne’er shall tame;
20    All their attempts to bend thee down
     Will but arouse thy generous flame,
        But work their woe and thy renown.
     Rule, Britannia!  rule the waves!
     Britons never will be slaves!

25 To thee belongs the rural reign;
        Thy cities shall with commerce shine;
     All thine shall be the subject main,
        And every shore it circles thine!
     Rule, Britannia!  rule the waves!
30 Britons never will be slaves!

     The Muses, still with Freedom found,
        Shall to thy happy coast repair;
     Blest Isle, with matchless beauty crown’d,
        And manly hearts to guard the fair: —
35 Rule, Britannia!  rule the waves!
     Britons never will be slaves!
                                               JAMES THOMSON.


     WHEN the British warrior-queen,
     Bleeding from the Roman rods,
     Sought, with an indignant mien,
     Counsel of her country’s gods, [page 13]

5    Sage beneath the spreading oak
        Sat the Druid, hoary chief, —
     Every burning word he spoke
        Full of rage and full of grief:

     “Princess!  if our aged eyes
10     Weep upon thy matchless wrongs,
     ‘Tis because resentment ties
        All the terrors of our tongues.

     “Rome shall perish! — write that word
        In the blood that she has spilt;
15   Perish, hopeless and abhorr’d,
        Deep in ruin as in guilt!

     “Rome, for empire far renowned,
        Tramples on a thousand states;
     Soon her pride shall kiss the ground —
20    Hark!  the Gaul is at her gates!

     “Other Romans shall arise,
        Heedless of a soldier’s name;
     Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize,
        Harmony, the path to fame.

25   “Then the progeny that springs
        From the forests of our land,
     Armed with thunder, clad with wings,
        Shall a wider world command. [page 14]

     “Regions Cæsar never knew
30    Thy posterity shall sway;
     Where his eagles never flew,
        None invincible as they.”

     Such the bard’s prophetic words,
        Pregnant with celestial fire,
35 Bending as he swept the chords
        Of his sweet but awful lyre.

     She, with all a monarch’s pride,
        Felt them in her bosom glow;
     Rushed to battle, fought, and died;
40    Dying, hurled them at the foe.

     “Ruffians, pitiless as proud!
        Heaven awards the vengeance due;
     Empire is on us bestowed,
        Shame and ruin wait for you.”
                                   WILLIAM COWPER.


From The Task

        ENGLAND, with all thy faults, I love thee still,
     My country!  and while yet a nook is left
     Where English minds and manners may be found,
     Shall be constrained to love thee.
        *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *
5   Time was when it was praise and boast enough
     In every clime, and travel where we might,
     That we were born her children; praise enough
     To fill the ambition of a private man,
     That Chatham’s language was his mother-tongue, [page 15]
10 And Wolfe’s great name compatriot with his own.
     Farewell those honours, and farewell with them
     The hope of such hereafter.  They have fallen
     Each in his field of glory:  one in arms,
     And one in council — Wolfe upon the lap
15 Of smiling Victory that moment won,
     And Chatham,[iv]   heart-sick of his country’s shame!
     They made us many soldiers.  Chatham, still
     Consulting England’s happiness at home,
     Secured it by an unforgiving frown
20 If any wronged her.  Wolfe, where’er he fought,
     Put so much of his heart into his act,
     That his example had a magnet’s force,
     And all were swift to follow whom all loved.
     Those suns are set.  Oh, rise some other such!
                                                       WILLIAM COWPER.


     SCOTS, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled,
     Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,
     Welcome to your gory bed
               Or to victorie! [page 16]
5   Now’s the day, and now’s the hour:
     See the front o’ battle lour,
     See approach proud Edward’s power,
               Chains and slaverie!

     Wha will be a traitor knave?
10 Wha can fill a coward’s grave?
     Wha sae base as be a slave?
               Let him turn, and flee!

     Wha for Scotland’s King and Law
     Freedom’s sword will strongly draw,
15 Freeman stand or freeman fa’,
               Let him follow me!

     By Oppression’s woes and pains,
     By your sons in servile chains,
     We will drain our dearest veins,
20           But they shall be free!

     Lay the proud usurpers low!
     Tyrants fall in every foe!
     Liberty’s in every blow!
               Let us do, or die!
                                      ROBERT BURNS.


     IT is not to be thought of that the Flood
     Of British freedom, which, to the open sea
     Of the world’s praise, from dark antiquity
     Hath flowed, “with pomp of waters, unwithstood,” [vii][page 17]
5   Roused though it be full often to a mood
     Which spurns the check of salutary bands,
     That this most famous stream in bogs and sands
     Should perish; and to evil and to good
     Be lost for ever.  In our halls is hung
10 Armoury of the invincible knights of old:
     We must be free or die, who speak the tongue
     That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold
     Which Milton held.  In everything we are sprung
     Of Earth’s first blood, have titles manifold.
                                                       WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.


 From The Lay of the Last Minstrel

     BREATHES there the man, with soul so dead,
     Who never to himself hath said,
        This is my own, my native land!
     Whose heart hath ne’er within him burned,
5    As home his footsteps he hath turned,
        From wandering on a foreign strand! —
     If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
     For him no minstrel raptures swell;
     His though his titles, proud his name,
10   Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;
     Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
     The wretch, concentred all in self,
     Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
     And, doubly dying, shall go down
15   To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
     Unwept, unhonoured, and unsung.
                                              SIR WALTER SCOTT. [page 18]


     THERE is a land, of every land the pride,
     Beloved of Heaven o’er all the world beside,
     Where brighter suns dispense serener light,
     And milder moons imparadise the night;
5    A land of beauty, virtue, valour, truth,
     Time-tutored age, and love-exalted youth.
     The wandering mariner, whose eye explores
     The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores,
     Views not a realm so beautiful and fair,
10   Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air.

     In every clime, the magnet of his soul,
     Touched by remembrance, trembles to that pole;
     For in this land of Heaven’s peculiar race,
     The heritage of Nature’s noblest grace,
15   There is a spot of earth supremely blest,
     A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest,
     Where man, creation’s tyrant, casts aside
     His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride,
     While in his softened looks benignly blend
20   The sire, the son, the husband, brother, friend.

     Here woman reigns; the mother, daughter, wife,
     Strew with fresh flowers the narrow way of life;
     In the clear heaven of her delightful eye
     An angel-guard of love and graces lie;
25   Around her knees domestic duties meet,
     And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet.
     Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found?
     Art thou a man? — a patriot? — look around;
     Oh, thou shalt find, howe’er thy footsteps roam,
30   That land thy country, and that spot thy home.
                                                JAMES MONTGOMERY. [page 19]


     Ye Mariners of England!
     That guard our native seas;
     Whose flag has braved a thousand years
     The battle and the breeze!
5    Your glorious standard launch again
     To match another foe!
     And sweep through the deep,
     While the stormy winds do blow;
     While the battle rages loud and long,
10   And the stormy winds do blow.

     The spirits of your fathers
     Shall start from every wave!
     For the deck it was their field of fame,
     And Ocean was their grave:
15   Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell
     Your manly hearts shall glow,
     As ye sweep through the deep,
     While the stormy winds do blow;
     While the battle rages loud and long,
20   And the stormy winds do blow.

     Britannia needs no bulwarks,
     No towers along the steep;
     Her march is o’er the mountain-waves,
     Her home is on the deep.
25   With thunders from her native oak
     She quells the floods below,
     As they roar on the shore,
     When the stormy winds do blow;
     And the battle rages loud and long,
30   And the stormy winds do blow. [page 20]

     The meteor flag of England
     Shall yet terrific burn;
     Till danger’s troubled night depart,
     And the star of peace return.
35   Then, then, ye ocean warriors!
     Our song and feast shall flow
     To the fame of your name,
     When the storm has ceased to blow;
     When the fiery fight is heard no more,
40   And the storm has ceased to blow.
                                   THOMAS CAMPBELL.


     OF Nelson and the North
     Sing the glorious day’s renown,
     When to battle fierce came forth
     All the might of Denmark’s crown,
5    And her arms along the deep proudly shone;
     By each gun the lighted brand
     In a bold, determined hand,
     And the Prince of all the land
     Led them on.

10   Like leviathans afloat,
     Lay their bulwarks on the brine;
     While the sign of battle flew
     On the lofty British line:
     It was ten of April morn by the chime:
15   As they drifted on their path, [page 21]
     There was silence deep as death;
     And the boldest held his breath,
     For a time.

     But the might of England flushed
20   To anticipate the scene;
     And her van the fleeter rushed
     O’er the deadly space between.
     “Hearts of oak!” our captains cried, when each gun
     From its adamantine lips
25   Spread a death-shade round the ships,
     Like the hurricane eclipse
     Of the sun.

     Again!  again!  again!
     And the havoc did not slack,
30   Till a feeble cheer the Dane
     To our cheering sent us back;
     Their shots along the deep slowly boom —
     Then ceased — and all is wail,
     As they strike the shattered sail;
35   Or in conflagration pale
     Light the gloom.

     Out spoke the victor then,
     As he hailed them o’er the wave;
     “Ye are brothers!  ye are men!
40   And we conquer but to save: —
     So peace instead of death let us bring;
     But yield, proud foe, thy fleet,
     With the crews, at England’s feet,
     And make submission meet
45   To our king.” [page 22]

     Then Denmark blessed our chief,
     That he gave her wounds repose;
     And the sounds of joy and grief
     From her people wildly rose,
50   As death withdrew his shades from the day.
     While the sun looked smiling bright
     O’er a wide and woeful sight,
     Where the fires of funeral light
     Died away.

55   Now, joy, Old England, raise
     For the tidings of thy might,
     By the festal cities blaze,
     Whilst the wine-cup shines in light;
     And yet amidst that joy and uproar,
60   Let us think of them that sleep
     Full many a fathom deep
     By thy wild and stormy steep,

     Brave hearts!  to Britain’s pride
65   Once so faithful and so true,
     On the deck of fame that died; —
     With the gallant good Riou:[ix] 
     Soft sight the winds of Heaven o’er their grave!
     While the billow mournful rolls
70   And the mermaid’s song condoles,
     Singing glory to the souls
     Of the brave!
                                                 THOMAS CAMPBELL. [page 23]


     GO where glory waits thee;
     But, while fame elates thee,
          O, still remember me!
     When the praise thou meetest
5    To thine ear is sweetest,
          O, then remember me!
     Other arms may press thee,
     Dearer friends caress thee,
     All the joys that bless thee
10      Sweeter far may be;
     But when friends are nearest,
     And when joys are dearest,
          O, then remember me!

     When, at eve, thou rovest
15   By the star thou lovest,
          O, then remember me!
     Think, when home returning,
     Bright we’ve seen it burning,
          O, thus remember me!
20   Oft as summer closes,
     When thine eye reposes
     On its lingering roses,
          Once so lov’d by thee,
     Think of her who wove them,
25   Her who made thee love them,
          O, then remember me! [page 24]

     When around thee dying
     Autumn leaves are lying,
          O, then remember me!
30   And at night, when gazing
     On the gay hearth blazing,
          O, still remember me!
     Then, should music, stealing
     All the soul of feeling
35   To thy heart appealing,
          Draw one tear from thee;
     Then let memory bring thee
     Strains I used to sing thee, —
          O, then remember me!
                                     THOMAS MOORE.


     THE Minstrel-Boy to the war is gone,
        In the ranks of death you’ll find him;
     His father’s sword he hath girded on,
        And his wild harp slung behind him.
5   “Land of song!” said the warrior bard,
        “Tho’ all the world betrays thee,
     One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,
        One faithful harp shall praise thee!”

     The minstrel fell, but the foeman’s chain
10    Could not bring that proud soul under;
     The harp he lov’d ne’er spoke again,
        For he tore its chords asunder;
     And said, “No chains shall sully thee,
        Thou soul of love and bravery!
15   Thy songs were made for the pure and free,
        They shall never sound in slavery!”
                                                      THOMAS MOORE.[page 25]


     THE stately homes of England!
        How beautiful they stand,
     Amidst their tall ancestral trees,
        O’er all the pleasant land!
5   The deer across their greensward bound
        Through shade and sunny gleam,
     And the swan glides past them with the sound
        Of some rejoicing stream.

     The merry homes of England!
10    Around their hearths by night
     What gladsome looks of household love
        Meet in the ruddy light!
     There woman’s voice flows forth in song,
        Or childhood’s tale is told;
15   Or lips move tunefully along
        Some glorious page of old.

     The blessed homes of England!
        How softly on their bowers
     Is laid the holy quietness
20    That breathes from Sabbath hours!
     Solemn, yet sweet, the church bells’ chime
        Floats through their woods at morn,
     All other sounds in that still time
        Of breeze and leaf are born.

25   The cottage homes of England!
        By thousands on her plains,
     They are smiling o’er the silvery brooks,
        And round the hamlet fanes. [page 26]

     Through glowing orchards forth they peep,
30    Each from its nook of leaves,
     And fearless there the lowly sleep,
        As the bird beneath their eaves.

     The free, fair homes of England!
        Long, long, in hut and hall
35   May hearts of native proof be reared
        To guard each hallowed wall!
     And green forever be the groves,
        And bright the flowery sod,
     Where first the child’s glad spirit loves
40    Its country and its God.
                                                 FELICIA HEMANS.


     OH!  why left I my hame?
        Why did I cross the deep?
     Oh!  why left I the land
        Where my forefathers sleep?
5    I sight for Scotia’s shore,
        And I gave across the sea,
     But I canna get a blink
        O’ my ain countrie.

     The palm-tree waveth high,
10    And fair the myrtle springs;
     And to the Indian maid
        The bulbul[xi] sweetly sings.
     But I dinna see the broom
        Wi’ its tassels on the lea, [page 27]
15   Nor hear the lintie’s[xii] sang
        O’ my ain countrie.

     Oh!  here no Sabbath bell
        Awakes the Sabbath morn,
     Nor song of reapers heard
20    Amang the yellow corn:
     For the tyrant’s voice is here,
        And the wail of slaverie;
     But the sun of freedom shines
        In my ain countrie.

25   There’s a hope for every woe,
        And a balm for every pain,
     But the first joys o’ our heart
        Come never back again.
     There’s a track upon the deep,
30    And a path across the sea;
     But the weary ne’er return
        To their ain countrie.
                                         ROBERT GILFILLAN.



     ATTEND, all ye who list to hear our noble England’s praise;
     I tell of the thrice famous deeds she wrought in ancient days,
     When that great fleet invincible against her bore in vain
     The richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest hearts of  Spain. [page 28]

5   It was about the lovely close of a warm summer day,
     There came a gallant merchant-ship full sail to Plymouth Bay;
     Her crew had seen Castile’s black fleet, beyond Aurigny’s isle,
     At earliest twilight, on the waves lie heaving many a mile.
     At sunrise she escape their van, by God’s especial grace;
10   And the tall Pinta, till the noon, had held her close in chase.
     Forthwith a guard at every gun was place along the wall;
     The beacon blazed upon the roof of Edgecumbe’s lofty hall;
     Many a light fishing-bark put out to pry along the coast,
     And with loose rein and bloody spur rode inland many a post.
15   With his white hair unbonneted, the stout old sheriff comes;
     Behind him march the halberdiers; before him sound the drums;
     His yeomen round the market cross make clear an ample space;
     For there behooves him to set up the standard of Her Grace.
     And haughtily the trumpets peal, and gaily dance the bells,
20   As slow upon the labouring wind the royal blazon swells.
     Look how the Lion of the sea lifts up his ancient crown, [page 29]
     And underneath his deadly paw treads the gay lilies down.
     So stalked he when he turned to flight, on that famed Picard field,[xiii] 
     Bohemia’s plume, and Genoa’s bow, and Cæsar’s eagle shield.
25   So glared he when at Agincourt in wrath he turned to bay,
     And crushed and torn beneath his claws the princely hunters lay.
     Ho!  gunners, fire a loud salute; ho!  gallants, draw your blades;
     Thou sun, shine on her joyously; ye breezes, waft  her wide;
30   Our glorious SEMPER EADEM, the banner of our pride.
     The freshening breeze of eve unfurled that banner’s massy fold;
     The parting gleam of sunshine kissed that haughty scroll of gold;
     Night sank upon the dusky beach, and on the purple sea, —
     Such night in England ne’er had been, nor e’er again shall be.
35   From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from Lynn to Milford Bay, [page 30]
     That time of slumber was as bright and busy as the day:
     For swift to east and swift to west the ghastly war-flame spread,
     High on St. Michael’s Mount it shone:  it shone on Beachy Head.
     Far on the deep the Spaniard saw, along each southern shire,
40   Cape beyond cape, in endless range, those twinkling points of fire.
     The fisher left his skiff to rock on Tamar’s glittering waves;
     The rugged miners poured to war from Mendip’s sunless caves:
     O’er Longleat’s towers, o’er Cranbourne’s oaks, the fiery herald flew:
     He roused thé shepherds of Stonehenge, the rangers of Beaulieu.
45   Right sharp and quick the bells all night rang out from Bristol town,
     And ere the day three hundred horse had met on Clifton Down;
     The sentinel on Whitehall gate looked forth into the night,
     And saw o’erhanging Richmond Hill the streak of blood-red light.
     Then bugle’s note and cannon’s roar the deathless silence broke,
50   And with one start, and with one cry, the royal city woke.
     At once on all her stately gates arose the answering fires;
     At once the wild alarum clashed from all her reeling spires; [page 31]
     From all the batteries of the Tower pealed loud the voice of fear;
     And all the thousand masts of Thames sent back a louder cheer:
55   And from the furthest wards was heard the rush of hurrying feet,
     And the broad streams of pikes and flags rushed down each roaring street;
     And broader still became the blaze, and louder still the din,
     As fast from every village round the horse came spurring in:
     And eastward straight from wild Blackheath the warlike errand went,
60   And roused in many an ancient hall the gallant squires of Kent.
     Southward from Surrey’s pleasant hills flew those bright couriers forth;
     High on bleak Hampstead’s swarthy moor they started for the north;
     And on, and on, without a pause untired they bounded still:
     All night from tower to tower they sprang; they sprang from hill to hill:
65   Till the proud peak unfurled the flag o’er Darwin’s rocky dales,
     Till like volcanoes flared to heaven the stormy hills of Wales,
     Till twelve fair counties saw the blaze on Malvern’s lonely height,
     Till streamed in crimson on the wind the Wrekin’s crest of light,
     Till broad and fierce the star came forth on Ely’s stately fane, [page 32]

70   And tower and hamlet rose in arms o’er all the boundless plain;
     Till Belvoir’s lordly terraces the sign to Lincoln sent,
     And Lincoln sped the message on o’er the wide vale of Trent;
     Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burned on Gaunt’s embattled pile,
     And the red flare on Skiddaw roused the burghers of Carlisle.
                                    THOMAS BABINGTON, LORD MACAULAY.


     LOVE thou thy land, with love far-brought
        From out the storied Past, and used
        Within the Present, but transfused
     Thro’ future time by power of thought.

5    True love turn’d round on fixed poles,
        Love, that endures not sordid ends,
        For English natures, freemen, friends,
     Thy brothers and immortal souls.
                                    ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON.


     YOU ask me why, tho’ ill at ease,
        Within this region I subsist, [page 33]
        Whose spirits falter in the mist,
     And languish for the purple seas.

5    It is the land that freeman till,
        That sober-suited Freedom chose,
        The land, where girt with friends or foes
     A man may speak the thing he will;

     A land of settled government,
10    A land of just and old renown,
        Where Freedom slowly broadens down
     From precedent to precedent:

     Where faction seldom gathers head,
        But by degrees to fulness wrought,
15    The strength of some diffusive thought
     Hath time and space to work and spread.
                                  ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON.


     HALF a league, half a league,
     Half a league onward,
     All in the valley of Death
        Rode the six hundred.
5   “Forward, the Light Brigade!
     Charge for the guns!  he said:
     Into the valley of Death
        Rode the six hundred. [page 34]

     “Forward, the light Brigade!”
10   Was there a man dismay’d?
     Not tho’ the soldier knew
        Some one had blunder’d:
     Theirs not to make reply,
     Theirs not to reason why,
15   Theirs but to do and die:
     Into the valley of Death
        Rode the six hundred.

     Cannon to right of them,
     Cannon to left of them,
20   Cannon in front of them,
        Volley’d and thunder’d;
     Storm’d at with shot and shell,
     Boldly they rode and well,
     Into the jaws of Death,
25   Into the mouth of Hell
        Rode the six hundred.

     Flash’d all their sabres bare,
     Flash’d as they turn’d in air
     Sabring the gunners there,
30   Charging an army, while
        All the world wonder’d:
     Plunged in the battery-smoke,
     Right thro’ the line they broke;
     Cossack and Russian
35   Reel’d from the sabre-stroke
        Shatter’d and sunder’d.
     Then they rode back, but not,
        Not the six hundred.

     Cannon to right of them,
40   Cannon to left of them, [page 35]
     Cannon behind them
        Volley’d and thunder’d;
     Storm’d at with shot and shell,
     While horse and hero fell,
45   They that had fought so well
     Came thro’ the jaws of Death,
     Back from the mouth of Hell,
     All that was left of them,
        Left of six hundred.

50   When can their glory fade?
     O the wild charge they made!
        All the world wonder’d.
     Honour the charge they made!
     Honour the Light Brigade,
55    Noble six hundred!
                 ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON.



     ALL is over and done:
     Render thanks to the Giver,
    England, for thy son.
    Let the bell be toll’d.
5   Render thanks to the Giver,
     And render him to the mould. [page 36]
    Under the cross of gold[xviii] 
    That shines over city and river,
   There he shall rest forever
10 Among the wise and the bold.
     Let the bell be toll’d:
    And a reverent people behold
  The towering car, the sable steeds:
  Bright let it be with its blazon’d deeds,
15 Dark in its funeral fold.
  Let the bell be toll’d:
 And a deeper knell in the heart be knoll’d;
  And the sound of the sorrowing anthem roll’d
 Thro’ the dome of the golden cross;
20 And the volleying cannon thunder his loss;
 He knew their voices of old.
  For many a time in many a clime
   His captain’s ear has heard them boom,
 Bellowing victory, bellowing doom:
25 When he with those deep voices wrought,
     Guarding realms and kings from shame;
     With those deep voices our dead captain taught
 The tyrant, and asserts his claim
In that dread sound to the great name,
30 Which he has worn so pure of blame,
    In praise and in dispraise the same,
  A man of well-temper’d frame.
 O civic muse, to such a name,
 To such a name for ages long,
35 To such a name,
 Preserve a broad approach of fame,
  And ever-echoing avenues of song. [page 37]


     “Who is he[xix]that cometh, like an honour’d guest,
With banner and with music, with soldier and with  priest,
40   With a nation weeping, and breaking on my rest?”
Mighty Seaman, this is he
    Was great by land as thou by sea.
Thine island loves thee well, thou famous man,
    The greatest sailor since our world began.
45 Now, to the roll of muffled drums,
    To thee the greatest soldier comes;
For this is he
    Was great by land as thou by sea;
His foes were thine; he kept us free;
50  O give him welcome, this is he
Worthy of our gorgeous rites,
    And worthy to be laid by thee;
For this is England’s greatest son,
    He that gain’d a hundred fights,
55 Nor ever lost an English gun;
    This is he that far away
Against the myriads of Assaye[xx]
    Clash’d with his fiery few and won;
And underneath another sun,
60  Warring on a later day,
Round affrighted Lisbon drew
    The treble works, the vast designs [page 38]
Of his labour’d rampart-lines,[xxi] 
    Where he greatly stood at bay,
65 Whence he issued forth anew,
    And ever great and greater grew,
Beating from the wasted vines
    Back to France her banded swarms,
Back to France with countless blows,
70  Till o’er the hills her eagles flew
Beyond the Pyrenean pines,
    Follow’d up in valley and glen
With blare of bugle, clamour of men,
    Roll of cannon and clash of arms,
75 And England pouring on her foes.
    Such a war had such a close.
Again their ravening eagle rose
    In anger, wheel’d on Europe-shadowing wings,
And barking for the thrones of kings;
80  Till one that sought but Duty’s iron crown
On that loud sabbath[xxii] shook the spoiler down;
    A day of onsets of despair!
Dash’d on every rocky square
    Their surging charges foam’d themselves away;
85 Last, the Prussian trumpet blew;
    Thro’ the long-tormented air
Heaven flash’d a sudden jubilant ray,
    And down we swept and charged and overthrew.
So great a soldier taught us there
90  What long-enduring hearts could do
In that world-earthquake, Waterloo!
    Mighty Seaman, tender and true, [page 39]
And pure as he from taint of craven guile,
    O saviour of the silver-coasted isle,
95  O shaker of the Baltic and the Nile,
       If aught of things that here befall
       Touch a spirit among things divine,
       If love of country move thee there at all,
       Be glad, because his bones are laid by thine!
100 And thro’ the centuries let a people’s voice
       In full acclaim,
       A people’s voice,
       The proof and echo of all human fame,
       A people’s voice, when they rejoice
105 At civic revel and pomp and game,
       Attest their great commander’s claim
       With honour, honour, honour, honour to him,
       Eternal honour to his name.
                                               ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON.


          FIRST pledge our Queen this solemn night,
             Then drink to England, every guest;
          That man’s the best Cosmopolite
             Who loves his native country best.
          May freedom’s oak for ever live
             With stronger life from day to day;
          That man’s the true Conservative
             Who lops the moulder’d branch away.
          Hands all round!
10         God the traitor’s hope confound!
     To this great caught of Freedom, drink, my friends,
     And the great name of England, round and round. [page 40]

          To all the loyal hearts who long
             To keep our English Empire whole!
15      To all our noble songs, the strong
             New England of the Southern Pole!
          To England under Indian skies,
             To those dark millions of her realm!
          To Canada whom we love and prize,
20         Whatever statesman hold the helm.
                      Hands all round!
             God the traitor’s hope confound!
     To this great name of England drink, my friends,
     And all her glorious empire, round and round.

25      To all our statesmen so they be
             True leaders of the land’s desire!
          To both our Houses, may they see
             Beyond the borough and the shire!
          We sail’d wherever ship could sail,
30         We founded many a mighty state;
          Pray God our greatness may not fail
             Thro’ craven fears of being great.
                      Hands all round!
             God the traitor’s hope confound!
35 To this great caught of freedom drink, my friends,
     And the great name of England, round and round.
                                                    ALFRED LORD TENNYSON.



     OH, to be in England
     Now that April’s there,
     And whoever wakes in England
     Sees, some morning, unaware, [page 41]
5   That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf
     Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,
     While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
     In England — now!


     And after April, when May follows,
10 And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows —
     Hark!  where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge
     Leans to the field and scatters on the clover
     Blossoms and dewdrops — at the bent spray’s edge —
     That’s the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,
15 Lest you should think he never could recapture
     The first fine careless rapture!
     And though the fields look rough with hoary dew,
     All will be gay when noontide wakes anew
     The buttercups, the little children’s dower, —
20 Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!
                                                     ROBERT BROWNING.


     NOBLY, nobly Cape Saint Vincent to the northwest died away;
     Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, reeking into Cadiz Bay;
     Bluish ‘mid the burning water, full in face Trafalgar lay;
     In the dimmest northeast distance, dawned Gibraltar, grand and gray;
5   “Here and here did England help me, — how can I help England?” — say, [page 42]
     Whoso turns as I, this evening, turn to God to  praise and pray,
     While Jove’s planet rises yonder, silent over Africa.
                                                                                   ROBERT BROWNING.


     GREEN fields of England!  wheresoe’er
     Across this water waste we fare,
     Your image at our hearts we bear,
     Green fields of England, everywhere.

5   Sweet eyes in England, I must flee
     Past where the waves’ last confines be,
     Ere your loved smile I cease to see,
     Sweet eyes in England, dear to me.

     Dear home in England, safe and fast
10 If but in thee my lot lie cast,
     The past shall seem a nothing past
     To thee, dear home, if won at last;
     Dear home in England, won at last!
                            ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH.


June 20, 1887

        FIRST Lady of our English race,
        In royal dignity and grace
        Higher than all in old ancestral blood, [page 43]
       But higher still in love of good
5     And care for ordered Freedom, grown
       To a great tree where’er
       In either hemisphere,
       Its vital seeds are blown;
       Where’er with every day begun
10   Thy English bugles greet the coming sun!

          Thy life is England’s.  All these fifty years
       Thou from thy lonely Queenly place
       Hast watched the clouds and sunshine on her face;
15   Her joys and sorrows have been always thine;
       Always thy quick and Royal sympathyp
       Has gone out swiftly to the humblest home,
       Wherever grief and pain and suffering come.

          Therefore it is that we
20   Take thee for head and symbol for our name.
       For fifty years of reign thou wert the same,
       Therefore to-day we make our jubilee.
       Firm set on ancient right, as on thy people’s love,
       Unchecked thy wheels of empire onward move.
25   Not as theirs is thy throne
       Who, though their hapless subjects groan,
       Sit selfish, caring not at all,
       Until the fierce mob surges and they fall,
       Or the assassin sets the down-trod free.
30   Not such thy fate on this thy jubilee,
       But love and reverence in the hearts of all.

          O England!  Empire wide and great
       As ever from the shaping hand of fate
       Did issue on the earth, august, large grown! [page 44]
35   What were the Empires of the past to thine,
       The old, old Empires ruled by kings divine —
       Egypt, Assyria, Rome?  What rule was like thine own,
       Who over all the round world bearest sway?
       Not those alone who thy commands obey
 40   Thy subjects are; but in the boundless West[xxiv]
       Our grandsires lost, still is thy reign confest.
       “The Queen” they call thee, the young People strong,
       Who, being Britons, might not suffer wrong,
       But are reknit with us in reverence for thee;
45   Therefore it is we make our jubilee.
          See what a glorious throng they come,
       The children of our England!  See
       What vigorous company
50   Thou sendest, Greater England of the Southern Sea!
       Thy stately cities, thick with domes and spires,
       Chase the illumined night with festal fires
       In honour of their Queen, whose happy reign
       Began when, ‘mid their central roar,
55   The naked savage trod the pathless plain.
       Thousands of miles, North, South, East, West, today
       Their countless herds and flocks unnumbered stray.
       Theirs are the vast primæval forest depths profound;
       Yet everywhere are found
60   The English laws, the English accents fair,
       ‘Mid burning North or cooler Southern air.
        A world within themselves, and with them blent [page 45]
       Island with continent.
       The green isles, jewels on the tropic blue,
65   Where flower and tree and bird are strange and new;
       Or that which lies within a temperate air
       As summer-England fair;
       Or those, our Southern Britain that shall be,
       Set in the lonely sea.
70   Lands of deep flord and snow-clad soaring hill
       Where-through the ocean-currents ebb and fill,
       And craters vast, from which the prisoned force
       Of the great earth-fires runs its dreadful course.
       And vales of fern and palm, whence rising like a dream
75   High in mid-heaven, the ghostly ice-fields gleam.

          And from her far and wintry North
       The Great Dominion issues forth,
       Fit nurse of stalwart British hearts and strong;
       From her black pine woods, deep in snow,
80   Her billowy prairies boundless as the sea,
       Where on the sweet untroubled soil
       Yearly the unnoticed, countless wild-flowers blow
       And by men’s fruitful and compelling toil
       Yearly the deep and bounteous harvests grow;
85   From the lone plains, o’er which the icy wind
       Sweeps from the North, leaving the Pole behind,
       In whose brief summer suns, so fierce they shine,
       Flourish alike the apple and the vine;
       From teeming ancient cities bright and fair
90   Whether in summer’s heat or frosty wintry air,
       Stamped with the nameless charm and grace
       Of a more joyous race;
       Or on the rounding prairie nestling down
       Homestead and frequent new-built town. [page 46]
95   Even to those ultimate wilds where comes to be
       Another Westminster on the Pacific Sea.

          Nor shall thy Western Isles
       Be wanting, where the high green breakers fall
       Upon the torrid shore, and nature smiles;
100 And yet sometimes broods over all,
       Thick woods and hot lagunes with steaming breath,
       A nameless presence with a face of death.
       fair balmy Isles, where never wintry air,
       Ruffles the scentless tropic blossoms fair,
105 Upon whose sun-warmed fruitful soil
       Our fathers’ dusky freedmen toil.
       Lands of bright plumes that flash from tree to tree,
       Long creepers trailing thick with brilliant bloom,
       And loud upon the forest’s silent gloom
110 The plunging surges of the encircling sea.

          And from the ancient land
       Scorching beneath the strong, unfailing sun,
       Round thee thy unnumbered subject millions stand;
       From many a storied city fair,
115 Old ere our England first begun,
       From marble tomb and temple white,
       Built ere our far forefathers were,
       And still a miracle defying Time;
       Palaces gray with age and dark with crime,
120 Fierce superstitions, only quenched in blood,
       And sweet flower-fancies yearning towards the light,
       And lustral cleansings in the sacred flood,
       Where by dim temple cool, or shaded street,
       From hill or parched plain the way-worn pilgrims meet. [page 47]
125    And from the unhappy continent
       Which breeds the savage and the slave —
       From our enormous South, there shall be sent
       A scanty band of strong self-governed men.
       And from those poisoned swamps, to-day a grave,
130 But which one day shall smile with plenty, when
       The onward foot of Knowledge, slow, sumblime,
       Has traversed her and set her children free
       From ocean to her fabulous inland sea,
       And the fierce savage, full of kingly grace
135 Is father of a gentler race,
       And peaceful commerce heals the wounds of Time,
       And the long history of blood and pain
       Comes nevermore again.

          And nearer to thee still, and dearer yet,
140 Thy people of these little Northern Isles,
       Who never shall their Queen forget,
       Nor be forgotten, whether Fortune smiles
       Or armed Europe storm around,
       Whom none assail, beyond the waves’ deep sound,
145 Behind their surge-struck ramparts safe and free.
       These are thy closest subjects, these
       The brain and heart of Empire, as thy Rose
       Within its close-ranged petals comes to hold
       A perfumed heart of gold,
150 Wherein the seed of the miraculous flower,
       Safe hid, defies Fate’s power.
       And most of all thy wondrous mother-town
       Upon our broad Thames sitting like a crown,
       Who, ‘mid her healthful labour-laden air,
155 Grows every day more fair;
       Whom not for fairness do her children prize,
       But for her gracious homely memories — [page 48]
       A nation, not a city, the loved home
       Whereto the longing thoughts of exiled Britons come!

         *    *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

160    Flash, festal fires, high on the joyous air!
       Clash, joy-bells!  joy-guns, roar!  and jubilant trumpets, blare!
       Let the great noise of our rejoicing rise!
       Gleam, long-illumined cities, to the skies
       Round all the earth, in every clime,
165 So far your distance half confuses time!
       As in the old Judæn history,[xxv] 
       Fling wide the doors and set the prisoners free!
       Wherever England is o’er all the world,
       Fly, banner of Royal England, stream unfurled!
170 The proudest Empire that has been, to-day
       Rejoices and makes solemn jubilee.
       For England!  England!  we our voices raise!
       Our England!  England!  in our  Queen we praise!
       We love not war, but only peace,
175 Yet never shall our England’s power decrease!
       Whoever guides our helm of State,
       Let all men know it, England shall be great!
       We hold a vster Empire than has been!
       Nigh half the race of man is subject to our Queen!
180 Nigh half the wide, wide earth is ours in fee!
       And where her rule comes, all are free. [page 49]
       And therefore ‘t is, O Queen, that we,
       Knit fast in bonds of temperate liberty,
       Rejoice to-day, and make our solemn jubilee!
                                                           SIR LEWIS MORRIS.


     SHE stands, a thousand-wintered tree,
        By countless morns impearled;
     Her broad roots coil beneath the sea,
        Her branches sweep the world;
5   Her seeds, by careless winds conveyed,
        Clothe the remotest strand
     With forests from her scatterings made,
      New nations fostered in her shade,
         And linking land with land.

10 O ye by wandering tempest sown
        ‘Neath every alien star,
      Forget not whence the breath was blown
        That wafted you afar!
     For ye are still her ancient seed
15    On younger soil let fall —
     Children of Britain’s island-breed,
     To whom the Mother in her need
        Perchance may one day call.
                                              WILLIAM WATSON.


     BROTHERS beyond the Atlantic’s expanse;
     And you that rear the innumerable fleece
     Far southward ‘mid the ocean name of peace;
     Britons that past the Indian wave advance [page 50]
5   Our name and spirit and world-predominance;
     And you our kin that reap the earth’s increase
     Where crawls that long-backed mountain till it cease
     Crown’d with the headland of bright Esperance: —
     Remote compatriots wheresoe’er ye dwell,
10 By your prompt voices ringing clear and true
     We know that with our England all is well:
     Young is she yet, her world-task but begun!
     By you we know her safe, and know by you
     Her veins are million but her heart is one.
                                                   WILLIAM WATSON.


     WHAT of the bow?
        The bow was made in England:
     Of true wood, of yew-wood,
        The wood of English bows;
5         So men who are free
           Love the old yew-tree
     And the land where the yew-tree grows.

     What of the cord?
        The cord was made in England:
10 A rough cord, a tough cord,
        A cord that bow-men love;
           And so we will sing
           Of the hempen string
     And the land where the cord was wove.

15 What of the shaft?
        The shaft was cut in England:
     A long shaft, a strong shaft,
        Barbed and trim and true; [page 51]
           So we’ll drink all together
20       To the grey goose-feather
     And the land where the grey goose flew.

     What of the mark?
        Ah, seek it not in England:
     A bold mark, our old mark,
25    Is waiting over-sea.
          When the strings harp in chorus,
           And the lion flag is o’er us,
     Is it there that our mark will be.

     What of the men?
30    The men were bred in England;
     The bow-men — the yeomen,
        The lads of dale and fell.
           Here’s to you — and to you!
           To the hearts that are true
35 And the land where the true hearts dwell!
                                 SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE.


           WHO’S that calling?
        It comes from far away,
     The voice of a brother o’er the sea.
          It says:  “Am I a stranger,
5        That you leave me in my danger?
     Oh, my brothers, will you stretch a hand to me?
           Send us the flag!
           The red cross flag! [page 52]
     Send us the banner that we love!
10       We long for it, we sigh for it,
           To live for it, to die for it —
              God save the red cross flag!”

           Who’s that calling?
        It comes from far away,
15 The voice of a brother in the West.
           “We are loyal.  We are true.
           We are flesh and blood of you,
     We are coming with our bravest and our best.
           Bearing the flag,
20       The red cross flag,
     Bearing the banner that we love.
           And is it stormy weather?
           Then we sink or swim together —
              God save the red cross flag!”

25       Who’s that calling?
        It comes from far away,
     A voice from the far Pacific main.
           “And shall we be behind
           When the banner’s in the wind,
30 And the old game is playing once again?
           We’re for the flag,
          The red cross flag,
     We’re for the flag that is our own.
        Do you ask a heart to care for it,
35    A hand to do and dare for it?
          God save the red cross flag!”

           Who’s that calling?
        The old sea-mother calls,
     In her pride at the children that she bore: [page 53]
40       “Oh, noble hearts and true,
           There is work for us to do,
     And we’ll do it as we’ve done it oft before.
           Under the flag,
           The red cross flag,
45 Under the flag our fathers bore.
        They died in days gone by for it,
        And we will gladly die for it.
           God save the red cross flag!”
                                SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE.


     WHAT marks the frontier line?
        Thou man of India, say!
      Is it the Himalayas sheer,
     The rocks and valleys of Cashmere,
5   Or Indus as she seeks the south
     From Attoch to the five-fold mouth?
           “Not that!  Not that!”
        Then answer men, I pray!
     What marks the frontier line?

10 What marks the frontier line?
        Thou man of Burma, speak!
     Is it traced from Mandalay,
     And down the marches of Cathay,
     From Bhamo south to Kiang-mai,
15 And where the buried rubies lie?
           “Not that!  Not that!”
        Then tell me what I seek:
     What marks the frontier line? [page 54]

     What marks the frontier line?
20    Thou Africander, say!
     Is it shown by Zulu kraal,
     By Drakensberg or winding Vaal,
     Or where the Shiré waters seek
     Their outlet east at Mozambique?
25       “Not that!  Not that!”
        There is a surer way
     To mark the frontier line.

     What marks the frontier line?
        Thou man of Egypt, tell!
30 Is it traced on Luxor’s sand,
     Where Karnak’s painted pillars stand,
     Or where the river runs between
     The Ethiop and Bishareen?
           “Not that!  Not that!”
35    By neither stream nor well
     We mark the frontier line.

     “But be it east or west,
        One common sign we bear,
     The tongue may change, the soil, the sky,
40 But where your British brothers lie,
     The lonely cairn, the nameless grave,
     Still fringe the flowing Saxon wave.
          “Tis that!  ‘Tis where
They lie — the men who placed it there,
45 That marks the frontier line.”
                        SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE. [page 55]


      This and the following poems by Mr. Henry Newbolt are reproduced by the kind permission of the author.  They are taken from The Island Race, published by John Lane, London and New York.

     IT was eight bells ringing,
        For the morning watch was done,
     And the gunner’s lads were singing
        As they polished every gun.
5   It was eight bells ringing,
     And the gunner’s lads were singing,
     For the ship she rode a-swinging,
        As they polished every gun.

Oh!  to see the linstock lighting,
10          Téméraire!  Téméraire!
           Oh!  to hear the round shot biting,
Téméraire!  Téméraire!
           Oh!  to see the linstock lighting,
          And to her the round shot biting,
15      For we’re all in love with fighting
             On the Fighting Téméraire.

     It was noontide ringing,
        And the battle just begun,
     When the ship her way was winging,
20    As they loaded every gun.
     It was noontide ringing, [page 56]
     When the ship her way was winging,
     And the gunner’s lads were singing
        As they loaded every gun.

25         There’ll be many grim and gory,
Téméraire!  Téméraire!
            There’ll be few to tell the story,
Téméraire!  Téméraire!
           There’ll be many grim and gory,
30       There’ll be few to tell the story,
           But we’ll all be on in glory,
              With the Fighting Téméraire.

     There’s a far bell ringing
        At the setting of the sun,
35 And a phantom voice is singing
       Of the great days done.
     There’s a far bell ringing,
     And a phantom voice is singing
     Of renown for ever clinging
40    To the great days done.

Now the sunset breezes shiver,
Téméraire!  Téméraire!
           And she’s a fading down the river,
Téméraire!  Téméraire!
45       Now the sunset breezes shiver,
           And she’s fading down the river,
           But in England’s song for ever
              She’s the Fighting Téméraire.
                                       HENRY NEWBOLT. [page 57]


     IN seventeen hundred and fifty-nine,
        When Hawke came swooping from the West,
     The French King’s Admiral with twenty of the line
        Was sailing forth to sack us, out of Brest.
5   The ports of France were crowded, the quays of  France a-hum
     With thirty-thousand soldiers marching to the drum,
     For bragging time was over and fighting time was come
        When Hawke came swooping from the West.

     ‘Twas long past noon of a wild November day
10    When Hawke came swooping from the West;
     He heard the breakers thundering in Quiberon Bay,
        But he flew the flag for battle, line abreast.
     Down upon the quicksands roaring out of sight
     Fiercely beat the storm-wind, darkly fell the night,
15 But they took the foe for pilot and the cannon’s glare for light
        When Hawke came swooping from the West. [page 58]
     The Frenchmen turned like a covey down the wind
        When Hawke came swoooping from the West;
     One he sank with all hands, one he caught and pinned,
20    And the shallows and the storm took the rest.
     The guns that should have conquered us they rusted on the shore,
     The men that would have mastered us they drummed and marched no more,
     For England was England, and a mighty brood she bore
        When Hawke came swooping from the West.
                                                            HENRY NEWBOLT.


     WITH failing feet and shoulders bowed
        Beneath the weight of happier days,
     He lagged among the heedless crowd,
        Or crept along suburban ways.
5   But still through all his heart was young,
        His mood a joy that naught could mar,
     A courage, a pride, a rapture, sprung
        Of the strength and splendor of England’s war.

     From ill-requited toil he turned
10    To ride with Picton[xxx] and with Pack,[xxxi] [page 59]
     Among his grammars inly burned
        To storm the Afgan mountain-track.
     When midnight chimed, before Quebec
        He watched with Wolfe till the morning star;
15 At noon he saw from Victory’s[xxxii] deck
        The sweep and splendour of England’s war.

     Beyond the book his teaching sped,
        He left on whom he taught the trace
     Of kinship with the deathless dead,
20    And faith in all the Island race.
     He passed:  his life a tangle seemed,
        His age from fame and power was far;
     But his hear was high to the end, and dreamed
        Of the sound and splendour of England’s war.
                                                        HENRY NEWBOLT.


     A NATION spoke to a Nation,
        A Queen sent word to a Throne:
     “Daughter am I in my mother’s house,
        But mistress in my own. [page 60]
5    The gates are mine to open,
        As the gates are mine to close,
     And I set my house in order,”
        Said our Lady of the Snows.

     “Neither with laughter nor weeping,
10    Fear or the child’s amaze —
     Soberly under the White Man’s law
        My white men go their ways.
     Not for the Gentiles’ clamour —
        Insult or threat of blows —
15   Bow we the knee to Baal,”
        Said our Lady of the Snows.

     “My speech is clean and single,
        I talk of common thing —
     Words of the wharf and the market-place
20    And the ware the merchant brings:
     Favour to those I favour,
        But a stumbling-block to my foes.
     Many there be that hate us,”
        Said our Lady of the Snows.

25  “I called my chiefs to council
        In the din of a troubled year;
     For the sake of a sign ye would not see,
        And a word ye would not hear. [page 61]
     This is our message and answer;
30    This is the path we chose:
     For we be also a people,”
        Said our Lady of the Snows.

     “Carry the word to my sisters —
        To the Queens of the East and the
35   I have proven faith in the Heritage
        By more than the word of mouth.
     They that are wise may follow
        Ere the world’s war-trumpet blows:
     But I — I am first in the battle,”
40    Said our Lady of the Snows.

     A Nation spoke to a Nation,
        A Throne sent word to a Throne:
     “Daughter am I in my mother’s house,
        But mistress in my own!
45   The gates are mine to open,
        As the gates are mine to close,
     And I abide by my mother’s house,”
        Said our Lady of the Snows.
                                              RUDYARD KIPLING.


     THE earth is full of anger,
        The seas are dark with wrath;
     The Nations in their harness
        Go up against our path!
5    Ere yet we loose the legions —
        Ere yet we draw the blade, [page 62]
     Jehovah of the Thunders,
        Lord God of Battles, aid!

     High lust and forward bearing,
10    Proud heart, rebellious brow —
     Deaf ear and soul uncaring,
        We seek Thy mercy now:
     The sinner that forswore Thee,
        The fool that passed Thee by,
15   Our times are known before Thee —
        Lord, grant us strength to die!

     For those who kneel beside us
        At altars not Thine own,
     Who lack the lights that guide us,
20    Lord, let their faith atone;
     If wrong we did to call them,
        By honour bound they came;
     Let not Thy wrath befall them,
        But deal to us the blame.

25   From panic, pride, and terror,
        Revenge that knows no rein —
     Light haste and lawless error,
        Protect us yet again.
     Cloak Thou our undeserving,
30    Make firm the shuddering breath,
     In silence and unswerving
        To taste Thy lesser death!

        *     *     *     *    *     *

     E’en now their vanguard gathers,
        E’en now we face the fray —
35   As Thou didst help our fathers, [page 63]
        Help Thou our host to-day!
     Fulfilled of signs and wonders,
        In life, in death made clear —
     Jehovah of the Thunders,
40    Lord God of Battles, hear!
                        RUDYARD KIPLING.



     GOD of our fathers, known of old,
        Lord of our far-flung battle-line,
     Beneath whose awful Hand we hold
        Dominion over palm and pine —
5    Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
        Lest we forget — lest we forget!

     The tumult and the shouting dies;
        The captains and the kings depart:
     Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,
10    An humble and a contrite heart.
     Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
        Lest we forget — lest we forget!

     Far-called, our navies melt away;
        On dune and headland sinks the fire:
15   Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
        Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
     Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,
        Lest we forget — lest we forget! [page 64]

     If, drunk with sight of power, we loose
20    Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe,
     Such boastings as the Gentiles use,
        Or lesser breeds without the Law —
     Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
     Lest we forget — lest we forget!

25   For heathen heart that puts her trust
        In reeking tube and iron shard,
     All valiant dust that builds on dust,
        And guarding, calls not Thee to guard,
     For frantic boast and foolish word —
30   Thy Mercy on Thy People, Lord!

                                                          RUDYARD KIPLING.


 From A Song of the English 

     WE have fed our sea for a thousand years
          And she calls us, still unfed,
     Though there’s never a wave of all her waves
          But marks our English dead:
5    We have strawed our best to the weed’s unrest
          To the shark and the sheering gull.
     If blood be the price of admiralty,
        Lord God, we ha’ paid in full!

     There’s never a flood goes shoreward now
10      But lifts a keel we manned;
     There’s never an ebb goes seaward now
          But drops our dead on the sand —
     But slinks our dead on the sands forlore, [page 65]
          From The Ducies to the Swin.[xxxv] 
15   If blood be the price of admiralty,
     If blood be the price of admiralty,
          Lord God, we ha’ paid it in!

     We must feed our sea for a thousand years,
          For that is our doom and pride,
20   As it was when they sailed with the Golden Hind[xxxvi]
          Or the wreck that struck last tide —
     Or the wreck that lies on the spouting reef
          Where the ghastly blue-lights flare.
     If blood be the price of admiralty,
25   If blood be the price of admiralty,
     If blood be the price of admiralty,
          Lord God, we ha’ bought it fair!
                                                             RUDYARD KIPLING.


          I STOOD upon the Plain,
          That had trembled when the slain
     Hurled their proud, defiant curses at the battle-heated foe,
          When the steed dashed right and left,
5        Through the bloody gaps he cleft,
     When the bridle-rein was broken, and the rider was laid low. [page 66]
          What busy feet had trod
          Upon the very sod
     Where I marshalled the battalions of my fancy to my aid!
10      And I saw the combat dire,
          Heard the quick, incessant fire, and the cannon’s echoes startling the reverberating 

          I heard the chorus dire,
          That jarred along the lyre
15   On which the hymn of battle rung, like surgings of the wave,
          When the storm, at blackest night,
          Wakes the ocean in affright,
     As it shouts its mighty pibroch o’er some shipwrecked vessel’s grave.

          I saw the broad claymore
20      Flash from its scabbard o’er
     The ranks that quailed and shuddered at the close and fierce attack;
          When Victory gave the word,
          Then Scotland drew the sword,
     And with arm that never faltered drove the brave defenders back.

25      I saw two brave chiefs die,
          Their last breaths like the sigh
     Of the zephyr-sprite that wantons on the rosy lips of morn;
          No envy-poisoned darts,
          No rancour in their hearts,
30   To unfit them for their triumph over death impending scorn. [page 67]
          And as I thought and gazed,
          My soul, exultant, praised
     The Power to whom each mighty act and victory are due,
          For the saintlike Peace that smiled,
35      Like a heaven-gifted child,
     And for the air of quietude that steeped the distant view.

          Oh, rare, divinest life
          Of Peace, compared with Strife!
     Yours is the trust splendor, and the most enduring fame.
40      All the glory ever reaped
          Where the fiends of battle leaped,
     Is harsh discord to the music of your undertoned acclaim.
                                                    CHARLES SANGSTER.


     ONE voice, one people, — one in heart
        And soul, and feeling, and desire!
        Relight the smouldering martial fire,
        Sound the mute trumpet, strike the lyre.
5    The hero-deed cannot expire;
           The dead still play their part.

     Raise high the monumental stone!
        A nation’s fealty is theirs,
        And we are the rejoicing heirs,
10   The honoured sons of sires whose cares
        We take upon us unawares,
           As freely as our own. [page 68]

     We boast not of the victory,
        But render homage, deep and just,
15   To his — to their — immortal dust,
        Who proved so worthy of their trust,
        No lofty pile nor sculpted bust
           Can herald their degree.

     No tongue can blazon forth their fame —
        The cheers that stir the sacred hill
        Are but mere promptings of the will
        That conquered them, that conquers still;
        And generations yet shall thrill
           At Brock’s remembered name.
                                                CHARLES SANGSTER.


     IN the seaport of St. Malo, ‘t was a smiling morn in May,
     When the Commodore Jacques Cartier to the westward sailed away;
     In the crowded old cathedral, all the town we on their knees,
     For the safe return of kinsmen from the undiscovered seas;
5    And every autumn blast that swept o’er pinnacle and pier
     Filled manly hearts with sorrow, and gentle hearts with fear.

     A year passed o’er St. Malo — again came round the day
     When the Commodore Jacques Cartier to the westward sailed away; [page 69]
     But no tidings from the absent had come the way they went,
10   And tearful were the vigils that many a maiden spent;
     And manly hearts were filled with gloom, and gentle hearts with fear,
     When no tidings came from Cartier at the closing of the year.

     But the Earth is as the Future, — it hath its hidden side,
     And the captain of St. Malo was rejoicing in his pride,
15   In the forests of the North — while his townsmen mourned his loss,
     He was rearing on Mount Royal the fleur-de-lis and cross;
     And when two months were over, and added to the year,
     St. Malo hailed him home again, cheer answering to cheer.

     He told them of a region hard, iron-bound, and cold,
20   Nor seas of pearl abounded, nor mines of shining gold;
     Where the wind from Thulé[xxxvii] freezes the word upon the lip,
     And the ice in spring comes sailing athwart the early ship; [page 70]
     He told them of the frozen scene, until they thrilled with fear,
     And piled fresh fuel on the hearth to make him better cheer.

25   But when he chang’d the strain, — he told how soon are cast
     In early spring the fetters that hold the waters fast;
     How the winter causeway, broken, is drifted out to sea,
     And the rills and rivers sing with pride the anthem of the free;
     How the magic wand of summer clad the landscape to his eyes,
30   Like the dry bones of the just when they wake in Paradise.

     He told them of the Algonquin braves — the hunters of the wild;
     Of how the Indian mother in the forest rocks her child;
     Of how, poor souls, they fancy in every living thing
     A spirit good or evil, that claims their worshipping;
35   Of how they brought their sick and maim’d for him to breathe upon;
     And of the wonders wrought for them, thro’ the Gospel of St. John.

     He told them of the river, whose mighty current gave
     Its freshness for a hundred leagues to ocean’s briny wave;
     He told them of the glorious scene presented to his sight, [page 71]
40   What time he reared the cross and crown on Hochelaga’s height;
     And of the fortress cliff, that keeps of Canada the key; —
     And they welcomed back Jacques Cartier from his perils over sea.
                                                        THOMAS D’ARCY MCGEE.


     IF I forswear the art divine
          That glorifies the dead,
     What comfort then can I call mine,
          What solace seek instead?
5   For from my birth our country’s fame
          Was life to me, and love;
     And for each loyal Irish name
          Some garland still I wove.

     I’d rather be the bird that sings
10      Above the martyr’s grave,
     Than fold in fortune’s cage my wings
          And feel my soul a slave;
     I’d rather turn one simple verse
          True to the Gaelic ear
15   Than sapphic odes I might rehearse
          With senates listening near.

     Oh, native land!  dost ever mark,
          When the world’s din is drown’d,
     Betwixt the daylight and the dark,
20      A wandering solemn sound
     That on the western wind is borne [page 72]
          Across the dewy breast?
     It is the voice of those who mourn
          For thee, in the far West.

25   For them and theirs I oft essay
          Thy ancient art of song,
     And often sadly turn away,
          Deeming my rashness wrong;
     For well I ween, a loving will
30      Is all the art I own:
     Ah me!  could love suffice for skill,
          What triumphs I had known!

     My native land!  my native land!
          Live in my memory still!
35   Break on my brain, ye surges grand!
          Stand up, mist-cover’d hill!
     Still on the mirror of the mind
          The scenes I love, I see:
     Would I could fly on the western wind,
40      My native land, to thee!
                                  THOMAS D’ARCY MCGEE.


                    I STOOD on Queenston Heights;
     And as I gazed from tomb to cenotaph,
     From cenotaph to tomb, adown and up,
     My heart grew full, much more with many thoughts,
5                  At length I cried
     “O robed with honour and with glory crowned,
     Tell me again the story of your pile.”
     And straight the ancient, shuddering cedars wept, [page 73]
     The solemn junipers indued their pall,
10   The moaning wind crept through the trembling oaks
     And, shrieking, fled.  Strange clamour filled the air;
     The steepy hill shook with the rush of arms;
     Around me rolled the tide of sudden war.
     The booming guns pealed forth their dreadful knell;
15   Musketry rattled; shouts, cries, groans were heard;
     Men met as foes, and deadly strife ensued.
     From side to side the surging combat rolled,
     And as it rolled, passed from my ken.
     But hark!  a ringing cheer peals up the height,
20   Once more the battle’s tide bursts on my view.
     Brock to the rescue!  Down goes the alien flag!
     Back, back the dark battalions fall.  On, on
     The “Tigers” come.  Down pours the rattling shot
     From out the verdant grove, like sheets of hail.
25   Up, up they press, York volunteers and all.
     Aha!  the day is ours!  See where the hero comes
     In conquering might, quick driving all before him!
     O brave ensample!  O beloved chief!
     Who follows thee keeps ever pace with honour.
30   Such tale the hillside told me, and I wept.
     Nay!  I wept not!  The hot, indignant thoughts
     That filled my breast burned up the welling tears
     Ere they had chance to flow, and forward Hate
     Spake rashly.  But calm reflection
35   Laid her cool hand upon my throbbing brow
     And whispered, “As up the misty stream
     The Norseman crept to-day, and signals white
     Waved kind salutes from yon opposing shore;
     And as ye peered the dusky vista through,
40   To catch first glimpse of yonder glorious plinth,[xxxviii]
     Yet saw it not till I your glance directed, — [page 74]
     So high it towered above the common plane —
     So, towering over Time, shall Brock e’er stand. —
     So, from those banks, shall white-robed Peace e’er smile.”
                                                 SARAH ANNE CURZON.


 From Ode on Dominion Day

     CANADA, Canada, land of the maple,
        Queen of the forest and river and lake,
     Open thy soul to the voice of thy people,
        Close not thy heart to the music they make.
5            Bells, chime out merrily,
              Trumpets, call cheerily,
        Silence is vocal, and sleep is awake!

     Canada, Canada, land of the beaver,
        Labour and skill have their triumph to-day;
10   Oh!  may the joy of it flow like a river,
        Wider and deeper as time flies away.
              Bells, chime out merrily,
              Trumpets, call cheerily,
        Science and industry laugh and are gay.

15   Canada, Canada, land of the snow-bird,
        Emblem of constant change cannot kill;
     Faith, that no strange cup has ever unsobered,
        Drinketh to-day from love’s chalice her fill.
              Bells, chime out merrily,
20          Trumpets, call cheerily,
        Loyalty singeth, and treason is still! [page 75]

     Canada, Canada, land of the bravest,
        Sons of the war-path and sons of the sea:
     Land of no slave-lash, to-day thou enslavest
25      Millions of hearts with affection for thee.
              Bells, chime out merrily.
              Trumpets, call cheerily,
        Let the sky ring with the shout of the free.

     Canada, Canada, land of the fairest,
30      Daughters of snow that is kissed by the sun,
     Binding the charms of all lands that are rarest
        Like the bright cestus of Venus in one!
              Bells, chime out merrily,
              Trumpets, call cheerily,
35      A new reign of beauty on earth is begun!
                                                               JOHN READE.


     HIGH grew the snow beneath the low-hung sky,
     And all was silent in the wilderness;
     In trance of stillness Nature heard her God
     Rebuilding her spent fires, and veiled her face
5    While the Great Worker brooded o’er His work.

        “Bite deep and wide, O Axe, the tree!
        What doth thy bold voice promise me?”

        “I promise thee all joyous things
        That furnish forth the lives of kings!

10      “For every silver, ringing blow,
        Cities and palaces shall grow!” [page 76]

        “Bite deep and wide, O Axe, the tree!
        The wider prophecies to me.”

        “When rust hath gnawed me deep and red,
15      A nation strong shall lift its head.

        “His crown the very Heavens small smite,
        Æones shall build him in his might!”

        “Bite deep and wide, O Axe, the tree;
        Bright Seer, help on thy prophecy!”

20   Max smote the snow-weighed tree, and lightly laughed.
     “See, friend,” he cried to one that looked and smiled,
     “My axe and I — we do immortal tasks —
     We build up nations — this my axe and I!”
                              ISABELLA VALANCY CRAWFORD.


     OH, tenderly deepen the woodland glooms,
        And merrily sway the beeches;
     Breathe delicately the willow blooms,
        And the pines rehearse new speeches;
5    The elms toss high, till they brush the sky,
        Pale catkins the yellow birch launches, —
     But the tree I love, all the greenwood above,
        Is the maple of sunny branches.

     Let who will sing of the hawthorn in spring,
10    Or the late-leaved linden in summer; [page 77]
     There’s a word, may be, for the locust tree,
        That delicate, strange new-comer;
     But the maple, it glows with the tint of the rose
        When pale are the springtime regions,
15   And its towers of flame from afar proclaim
        The advance of winter’s legions. 

     And a greener shade there never was made
        Than its summer canopy sifted;
     And many a day, as beneath it I lay,
20    Has my memory backward drifted
     To a pleasant lane I may walk not again,
        Leading over a fresh green hill,
     Where a maple stood just clear of the wood —
        And oh, to be near it still!
                        CHARLES GEORGE DOUGLAS ROBERTS.


     O CHILD of Nations, giant-limbed,
        Who stand’st among the nations now
     Unheeded, unadored, unhymned,
        With unanointed brow, —

5    How long the ignoble sloth, how long
        The trust in greatness not thine own?
     Surely the lion’s brood is strong
        To front the world alone!

     How long the indolence, ere thou dare
10    Achieve thy destiny, seize thy fame, —
     Ere our proud eyes behold thee bear
        A nation’s franchise, nation’s name? [page 78]

     The Saxon force, the Celtic fire,
        These are thy manhood’s heritage!
15   Why rest with babes and slaves?  Seek higher
        The place of race and age.

     I see to every wind unfurled
        The flag that bears the Maple-Wreath;
     Thy swift keels furrow round the world
20    Its blood-red folds beneath;

     Thy swift keels cleave the furthest seas;
        Thy white sails swell with alien gales;
     To stream on each remotest breeze
        The black smoke of thy pipes exhales.

25   O Falterer, let thy past convince
        Thy future, — all the growth, the gain,
     The fame since Cartier knew thee, since
        Thy shores beheld Champlain!

     Montcalm and Wolfe!  Wolfe and Montcalm!
30    Quebec, thy storied citadel
     Attests in burning song and psalm
        How here thy heroes fell!

     O thou that bor’st the battle’s brunt
        At Queenston, and at Lundy’s Lane, —
35   On whose scant ranks but iron front
        The battle broke in vain! —

     Whose was the danger, whose the day,
        From whose triumphant throats the cheers,
     At Chrysler’s Farm, at Chateauguay,
40    Storming like clarion-bursts our ears? [page 79]
     On soft Pacific slopes, — beside
        Strange floods that northward rave and fall, —
     Where chafes Acadia’s chainless tide, —
        Thy sons await thy call.

45   They wait; but some in exile, some
        With strangers housed, in stranger land; —
     And some Canadian lips are dumb
        Beneath Egyptian sands.[xxxix]

     O mystic Nile!  Thy secret yields
50    Before us; thy most ancient dreams
     Are mixed with far Canadian fields
        And murmur of Canadian streams.

     But thou, my Country, dream not thou!
        Wake, and behold how night is done, —
55 How on thy breast, and o’er thy brow,
        Bursts the uprising sun!


     O RIVERS rolling to the sea
     From lands that bear the maple tree,
        How swell your voices with the strain
     Of loyalty and liberty! [page 80]

5    A holy music, heard in vain
     By coward heart and sordid brain
        To whom this strenuous being seems
     Naught but a greedy race for gain.

     O, unsung streams — not splendid themes
10   Ye lack to fire your patriot dreams!
        Annals of glory gild your waves,
     Hope freights your tides, Canadian streams!

     St. Lawrence, whose wide water laves
     The shores that ne’er have nourished slaves,
15      Swift Richelieu, of lilied fame!
     Niagara of glorious graves!

     Thy rapids, Ottawa, proclaim
     Where Daulac[xxxx] and his heroes came!
        Thy tides, St. John, declare La Tour,[xxxxi]
20   And, later, many a loyal name!

     Thou inland stream,[xxxxii] whose vales, secure
     From storm, Tecumseh’s death made poor! [page 81]
        And thou, small water,[xxxxiii] red with war,
     ‘Twixt Beaubasin and Beauséjour!

25   Dead Saguenay, where eagles soar,
     What voice shall from the bastioned shore
        The tale of Roberval[xxxxiv] reveal,
     Or his mysterious fate deplore?

     Annapolis, do thy floods yet feel
30   Faint memories of Champlain’s keel,
        Thy pulses yet the deeds repeat
     Of Poutrincourt[xxxxv] and D’Iberville?[xxxxvi]

     And thou far tide, whose plains now beat
     With march of myriad westering feet,
35      Saskatchewan, whose virgin sod
     So late Canadian blood made sweet?[xxxxvii]

     Your bulwark hills, your valleys broad,
     Streams where De Salaberry[xxxxviii] trod, [page 82]
        Where Wolfe achieved, where Brock was slain —
40   Their voices are the voice of God.

     O, sacred waters!  not in vain,
     Across Canadian height and plain,
        Ye sound us, in triumphant tone,
     The summons of your high refrain.
                              CHARLES GEORGE DOUGLAS ROBERTS.


     ENGLAND, England, England,
     Girdled by ocean and skies,
     And the power of a world, and the heart of a  race,
     And a hope that never dies.

5    England, England, England,
     Wherever a true heart beats,
     Wherever the rivers of commerce flow,
     Wherever the bugles of conquest blow,
     Wherever the glories of liberty grow,
10  ‘Tis the name that the world repeats.

     And ye who dwell in the shadow
     Of the century’s sculptured piles,
     Where sleep our century-honoured dead
     While the great world thunders overhead,
15   And far out miles on miles
     Beyond the smoke of the mighty town,
     The blue Thames dimples and smiles; [page 83]
     Not yours alone the glory of old,
     Of the splendid thousand years,
20   Of Britain’s might and Britain’s right
     And the brunt of British spears.

     Not yours alone, for the great world round
     Ready to dare and do,
     Scot and Celt and Norman and Dane,
25   With the Northman’s sinew and heart and brain,
     And the Northman’s courage for blessing or bane
     Are England’s heroes too.

     North and South and East and West,
     Wherever their triumphs be,
30   Their glory goes home to the ocean-girt isle
     Where the heather blooms and the roses smile
     With the green isle under her lee;
     And if ever the smoke of an alien gun
     Should threaten her iron repose,
35   Shoulder to shoulder against the world,
     Face to face with her foes,
     Scot and Celt and Saxon are one
     Where the glory of England goes.
     And we of the newer and vaster West,
40   Where the great war banners are furled,
     And commerce hurries her teeming hosts,
     And the cannon are silent along our coasts,
     Saxon and Gaul, Canadians claim
     A part in the glory and pride and aim
45   Of the Empire that girdles the world.

     England, England, England,
     Wherever the daring heart [page 84]
     By Arctic floe or torrid strand,
     Thy heroes play their part;
50   For as long as conquest holds the earth,
     Or commerce sweeps the sea,
     By Orient jungle or Western plain,
     Will the Saxon spirit be.
     And whatever the people that dwell beneath,
55   Or whatever the alien tongue,
     Over the freedom and peace of the world
     Is the flag of England flung.
     Till the last great freedom is found,
     And the last great truth be taught,
60   Till the last great deed be done,
     And the last great battle is fought;
     Till the last great fighter is slain in the last great fight
     And the war-wolf is dead in his den,
     England, breeder of hope and valour and might,
65   Iron mother of men.

     Yea, England, England, England,
     Till honour and valour are dead,
     Till the world’s great cannons rust,
     Till the world’s great hopes are dust,
70   Till faith and freedom be fled,
     Till wisdom and justice have passed
     To sleep with those who sleep in the many-chambered vast,
     Till glory and knowledge are charnelled dust in dust,
     To all that is best in the world’s unrest,
75   In heart and mind you are wed.
     While out from the Indian jungle
     To the far Canadian snows, [page 85]
     Over the east and over the west,
     Over the worst and over the best,
80   The flag of the world to its winds unfurled,
     The blood-red ensign blows.
                                                       W. WILFRED CAMPBELL.



       BY crag and lonely moor she stands,
          This mother of half a world’s great men,
       And kens them far by sea-wracked lands,
          Or orient jungle, or western fen.

5      And far out ‘mid the mad turmoil,
          Or where the desert places keep
       Their lonely hush, her children toil,
          Or wrapped in wide-world honour sleep.

       By Egypt’s sands or western wave,
10        She kens her latest heroes rest,
       With Scotland’s honour o’er each grave,
          And Britain’s flag above each breast.

       And some at home. — Her mother love
          Keeps crooning wind-songs o’er their graves,
15     Where Arthur’s castle looms above,
          Or Strathy storms or Solway raves,

       Or Lomond unto Nevis bends
          In olden love of clouds and dew;
       Where Trosach unto Stirling sends
20       Greetings that build the years anew. [page 86]

       Out where her miles of heather sweep,
          Her dust of legend in his breast,
       ‘Neath agèd Dryburgh’s aisle and keep,
          Her Wizard Walter takes his rest.

25     And her loved ploughman, he of Ayr,
          More loved than any singer loved
       By heart of man amid those rare,
          High souls the world hath tried and proved;

       Whose songs are first to heart and tongue,
30        Wherever Scotsmen greet together,
       And, far-out alien scenes among,
          Go mad at the glint of a sprig of heather.

       And he her latest wayward child,
          Her Louis of the magic pen,[xxxxix]
35     Who sleeps by tropic crater piled,
          Far, far, alas, from misted glen;

       Who loved her, knew her, drew her so,
          Beyond all common poet’s whim; —
       In dreams the whaups are calling low,
40        In sooth her heart is woe for him.

       And they, her warriors, greater none
          E’er drew the blade of daring forth,
       Her Colin[l] under Indian sun,
          Her Donald[li] of the fighting North. [page 87]

45     Or he, her greatest hero, he
          Who sleeps somewhere by Nilus’ sands,
       Grave Gordon,[lii] mightiest of those free,
          Great captains of her fighting bands.

       Yea, these and myriad myriads more,
50        Who stormed the fort or ploughed the main,
       To free the wave or win the shore,
          She calls in vain, she calls in vain.

       Brave sons of her, far severed wide
          By purpling peak or reeling foam;
55     From western ridge or orient side,
          She calls them home, she calls them home.

       And far, from east to western sea,
          The answering word comes back to her,
       “Our hands were slack, our hopes were free,
60        We answered to the blood astir;

       “The life by Kelpie loch was dull,
          The homeward slothful work was done;
       We followed where the world was full,
          To dree the weird our fates had spun.

65    “We built the brigg, we reared the town,
          We spanned the earth with lightning gleam,
       We ploughed, we fought, ‘mid smile and frown,
          Where all the world’s four corners teem.

       “But under all the surge of life,
70        The mad race-fight for mastery,
       Through foremost in the surgent strife,
          Our hearts went back, went back to thee.” [page 88]

       For the Scotsman’s speech is wise and slow,
          And the Scotsman’s thought it is hard to ken,
75     But through all the yearnings of men that go,
          His heart is the heart of the Northern glen.

       His song is the song of the windy moor,
          And the humming pipes of the squirling din;
       And his love is the love of the shieling door,
80        And the smell of the smoking peat within.

       And nohap how much of the alien blood
          Is crossed with the strain that holds him fast,
      ‘Mid the world’s great ill and the world’s great good,
          He yearns to the Mother of men at last.

85     For there’s something strong and something true
          In the wind where the sprig of heather is blown;
       And something great in the blood so blue,
          That makes him stand like a man alone.

       Yea, give him the road and loose him free,
90        He sets his teeth to the fiercest blast,
       For there’s never a toil in a far countrie
          But a Scotsman tackles it hard and fast.

       He builds their commerce, he sings their songs,
          He weaves their creeds with an iron twist, —
95     And making of laws or righting of wrongs,
          He grinds it all as the Scotsman’s grist.
          *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *
       Yea, there by crag and moor she stands,
          This mother of a half a world’s great men,
       And out of the heart of her haunted lands
100       She calls her children home again. [page 89]

       And over the glens and the wild sea floors
          She peers so still as she counts her cost,
       With the whaups low calling over the moors, —
          “Woe, woe, for the great ones she hath lost.”
                                                  W. WILFRED CAMPBELL.


     WHAT is the blue on our flag, boys?
        The waves of the boundless sea,
     Where our vessels ride in their tameless pride,
        And the feet of the winds are free;
5   From the sun and smiles of the coral isles
        To the ice of the South and North,
     With dauntless tread through tempests dread
        The guardian ships go forth.

     What is the white on our flag, boys?
10      The honour of our land,
     Which burns in our sight like a beacon light
        And stands while the hills shall stand;
     Yea, dearer than fame, wherever we be,
15      For the mothers and wives that pray for the lives
     Of the brave hearts over the sea.

     What is the red on our flag, boys?
        The blood of our heroes slain,
     On the burning sands in the wild waste lands
20       And the froth of the purple main;
     And it cries to God from the crimsoned sod
        And the crest of the waves outrolled,
     That He send us men to fight again
        As our fathers fought of old. [page 90]

25   We’ll stand by the dear old flag, boys,
        Whatever be said or done,
     Though the shots come fast, as we face the blast,
        And the foe be ten to one —
     Though our only reward be the thrust of a sword
30      And a bullet in heart or brain.
     What matters one gone, if the flag float on
        And Britain be Lord of the main!
                                              FREDERICK GEORGE SCOTT.


     ALL hail to the day when the Britons came over,
        And planted their standard, with sea-foam still wet,
     Around and above us their spirits will hover,
        Rejoicing to mark how we honour it yet.
5   Beneath it the emblems they cherished are waving,
        The Rose of Old England the roadside perfumes;
     The Shamrock and Thistle the north winds are braving,
        Securely the Mayflower blushes and blooms.


     Hail to the day when the Britons came over,
10      And planted their standard with sea-foam still wet,
     Around and above us the spirits will hover,
        Rejoicing to mark how we honour it yet.
        We’ll honour it yet, we’ll honour it yet,
        The flag of Old England we’ll honour it yet. [page 91]
15   In the temples they founded their faith is maintained,
        Every foot of the soil they bequeathed is still ours,
     The graves where they moulder, no foe has profaned,
        But we wreathe them with verdure, and strew them with flowers!
     The blood of no brother, in civil strife pour’d,
20      In this hour of rejoicing, encumbers our souls!
     The frontier’s the field for the Patriot’s sword,
        And curs’d be the weapon that Faction controls!

     Then hail to the day!  ‘tis with memories crowded,
        Delightful to trace ‘midst the mists of the past,
25   Like the features of Beauty, bewitchingly shrouded,
        They shine through the shadows Time o’er them  has cast.
     As travellers track to its source in the mountains
        The stream which, far swelling, expands o’er the plains,
     Our hearts, on this day, fondly turn to the fountains,
30      Whence flow the warm currents that bound in our veins.

     And proudly we trace them:  No warrior flying
        From city assaulted, and fanes overthrown,
     With the last of his race on the battlements dying,
        And weary with wandering, founded our own.
35   From the Queen of the Islands, then famous in story,
        A century since, our brave forefathers came,
     And our kindred yet fill the wide world with her glory,
        Enlarging her Empire and spreading her name. [page 92]

     Ev’ry flash of her genius our pathway enlightens —
40      Ev’ry field she explores we are beckoned to tread,
     Each laurel she gathers, our future day brightens —
        We joy with her living, and mourn for her dead.
     Then hail to the day when the Britons came over
        And planted their standard, with sea-foam still wet!
45   Above and around us their spirits shall hover,
        Rejoicing to mark how we honour it yet.
                                                             JOSEPH HOWE.


Dedicated to Lord Strathcona

     O I WAS thine, and thou wert mine, and ours the boundless plain,
     Where the winds of the North, my gallant steed, ruffled thy tawny mane,
     But the summons hath come with roll of drum, and bugles ringing shrill,
     Startling the prairie antelope, the grizzly of the hill.
5   ‘Tis the voice of Empire calling, and the children gather fast
     From every land where the cross bar floats out from the quivering mast;
     So into the saddle I leap, my own, with bridle swing-free,
     And thy hoofbeats shall answer the trumpets blowing across the sea. [page 93]
     Then proudly toss thy head aloft, nor think of the foe to-morrow,
10   For he who dares to stay our course drinks deep of the Cup of Sorrow.

     Thy form hath pressed the meadow’s breast, where the sullen grey wolf hides,
     The great red river of the North hath cooled thy burning sides;
     Together we’ve slept while the tempest swept the Rockies’ glittering chain;
     And many a day the bronze centaur hath galloped behind in vain.
15   But the sweet wild grass of mountain pass, and the shimmering summer streams
     Must vanish forevermore, perchance, into the land of dreams;
     For the strong young North hath sent us forth to battlefields far away,
     And the trail that ends where Empire trends, is the trail we ride to-day.
     But proudly toss thy head aloft, nor think of the foe to-morrow,
20   For he who bars Strathcona’s Horse drinks deep of the Cup of Sorrow.
                                                             DR. W. H. DRUMMOND.


From The Habitant’s Summer

     “Dat’s about de way we’re leevin’, dat’s a few t’ing we’re seen’,
          W’en de nice warm summer sun is shinin’ down on Canadaw, [page 94]
     Ah’ no matter w’at I’m hearin’, still I never feel lakbein’
          No oder stranger feller, me, but only habitant.

5   “For dere’s no place lak our own place, don’t care de far you’re goin’;
         Dat’sw’at de whole worl’ssayin’, w’eneverdey come here,
     ‘Cos we got de fines’ contree, an’ de beeges reever flowin’
         An’ le bon Dieusen’ de sunshine nearly twelve mont’ ev’ry year.”
                                                        DR. W. H. DRUMMOND.


 From The Habitant’s Jubilee Ode

“An’ onder de flag of Angleterre, so long as dat flag was fly —
     Wit’ deir English broder, les Canayens is satisfy leev an’ die.
Dat’s de message our fader geev us w’endey’re fallin’ on Chateaugay,
     An’ de flag was kipin’ dem safe den, dat’s de wan we will kip alway.”
                                                         DR. W. H. DRUMMOND.


     THERE’S a thing we love to think of when the summer days are long,
     When the summer winds are blowing, and the summer sun is strong; [page 95]
     When the orchards and the meadows fling their sweetness on the air,
     And the grainfields flaunt their richest, and the glow is everywhere;
5          Something sings it all the day,
            Canada, fair Canada!
            And the pride thrills through and through us;
            ‘Tis our birthplace — Canada!

     There’s a thing we love to think of when the frost and ice and snow
10   Hold a carnival together, and the biting north winds blow;
     There’s a thing we love to think of through the bitter winter hours,
     For it stirs a warmth within us — ‘tis this fair young land of ours.
     Ours with all her youth and promise, ours with all her strength and might,
     Ours with all her wealth of waters, and her forests deep as night,
15   With her mines — her hidden treasures — with her sun-steeped hill and plain;
     With her mountains and her meadows, and her fields of golden grain.
     Other lands may far outshine her, boast more charms then she can claim,
     But this young land is our own land, and we love her very name.
            Canada, fair Canada!
20        Native-born are we, are we,
            And the pride thrills through and through us;
           ‘Tis our birthplace — Canada! [page 96]

     Let the man born in old England love the dear old land the most,
     For what spot a man is born in, of that spot he loves to boast;
25   Let the Scot look back toward Scotland with a longing in his eyes,
     And the exile from old Erin think her green shores paradise.
            Native-born are we, are we,
            Canada, fair Canada!
            And the pride thrills through and through us;
30        ‘Tis our birthplace — Canada!

     Well we love the sea-girt Island, and we strive to understand
     All the greatness, all the grandeur, of the glorious motherland;
     And we cheer her to the skies, cheer her till the echoes start,
     For the old land claims our homage, but the new land holds our heart.
35        Native-born are we, are we, 
            Canada, fair Canada!
            And the pride thrills through and through us;
           ‘Tis our birthplace — Canada!
                                                                          JEAN BLEWETT. [page 97]


     THANK God I have in my laggard blood
     The vim of the Englishman,
     Which is second to none, from North to South,
     Save the fire of the Scottish clan —
5    Save the blood of the lads who died
     On the rocky mountain-side,
     And went to the hell of the heated guns
     As a lover goes to his bride.

     The Ghoorkas laughed at the whining balls —
10   And they were of alien race.
     The English drave at the smoking rocks
     And their subalterns set the pace.
     Oh the blood of the lads who fell
     Where the valley lay a hell!
15   Thank God that the men in the East and West
     Cheer at the tale they tell.

     The Ghoorkas lay in the slaughter place,
     Save a few that had battled through —
     Their brown, brave faces raised to the steep
20   Where the flags of the marksmen flew —
     Their great souls cheering still
     (Souls that no ball could kill)
     Into the ears of the few, who crouched
     Under the crooked hill.

25   The English went as maids to a dance
     Or hounds to the huntsman’s call,
     And the English lay in the valley-lap [page 98]
     And smeared their blood on the wall.
     Oh the blood that knows no shame,
30   And the valour clear of blame!
     Thank God that the world is girt about
     With the gold of an English name.

     Then the men of the Gordon Highlanders
     With their bagpipes shrilling free —
35   The lads of the heather pasture-sides,
     The lads of the unclad knee,
     Charged — where their friends lay dead —
     Over the green and the red
     To the cry of the regimental pipes
40   And the flop of the hitting lead.

     They passed the level of sprawling shapes
     And the valley of reeking death;
     They struck the rocks of the mountain pass
     Where the smoke blew up like breath.
45   Little they thought of fame
     Or the lifting of a name;
     They only thought of the mountain crest
     And the circle of spitting flame.

     Thank God I find in my laggard blood,
50   Deep down, the fire of the man,
     And the heart that shakes with a mad delight
     At the name of a Highland clan —
     At the name of the lads who died
     On the rocky mountain-side
55   And went to the hull of the heated guns
     As a lover goes to his bride.
                      THEODORE ROBERTS. [page 99]


    (“There will come a reckoning with England. . . . We recognized her as our old enemy, who has stood in the path of Russian development.” — Prince HespereOukahtomsky.)

     YE who would reckon with England —
        Ye who would sweep the seas
     Of the flag that Rodney nailed aloft
        And Nelson flung to the breeze —
5   Count well your ships, and your men,
        Count well your horse and your guns,
For they who reckon with England
Must reckon with England’s sons.

     Ye who would challenge England —
10    Ye who would break the might
     Of the little isle in the foggy sea
        And the lion-heart in the fight —
     Count well your horse and your swords,
        Weigh well your valour and guns,
15 For they who rise against England
Must sabre her million sons.

     Ye who would roll to warfare
        Your hordes of peasants and slaves,
     To crush the pride of an empire
20    And sink her fame in the waves —
     Test well your blood and your metal,
        Count well your troops and your guns,
     For they who bathe with England
Must war with a Mother’s sons.
                            THEODORE ROBERTS. [page 100]


     SANG one of England in his island home:
        “Her veins are million, but her heart is one,”
     And looked from out his wave-bound homeland isle
        To us who dwell beyond its western sun.

5    And we among the northland plains and lakes,
        We youthful dwellers on a younger land,
     Turn eastward to the wide Atlantic waste,
        And feel the clasp of England’s outstretched hand.

     For we are they who wandered far from home
10    To swell the glory of an ancient name:
     Who journeyed seaward on an exile long,
        When fortune’s twilight to our island came.

     But every keel that cleaves the midway waste
        Binds with a silent thread our sea-cleft strands,
15   Till ocean dwindles and the sea-waste shrinks,
        And England mingles with a hundred lands.

     And weaving silently all far-off shores,
        A thousand singing wires stretch round the earth,
     Or sleep still vocal in their ocean depths,
20    Till all lands die to make the glorious birth. [page 101]
     So we remote compatriots reply,
        And feel the world-task only half begun:
     “We are the girders of the aging earth,
        Whose veins are million, but whose heart is one.”
                                                                           ARTHUR STRINGER.


“Beyond the Seas, Within the Fold.”

     GOD made our bodies of all the dust
        That is scattered about the world,
     That we might wander in search of home
        Wherever the seas are hurled:
5    But our hearts he hath made of English dust,
        And mixed it with none beside,
     That we might love with an endless love
The lands where our kings abide.

     And tho’ we weave on a hundred shores,
10    And spin on a thousand quays,
     And tho’ we are truant with all the winds,
        And gypsy with all the seas,
     We are touched to tears as the heart is touched
        By the sound of an ancient tune
15 At the name of the Isle in the Western seas
With the rose on her breast of June.

     And it’s O for a glimpse of England,
        And the buds that her garden yields,
     The delicate scent which her hedges wind,
20    And the shimmering green of her fields,
     The roll of her downs and the lull of her streams,
        And the grace of her dew-drenched lawns, [page 102]
     And the calm of her shores where the waters wash
Rose-tinged with her thousand dawns.

25 And it’s O for a glimpse of London town,
        Tho’ it be through the fog and the rain,
     The loud-thronged streets and the glittering shops,
        The pageant of pomp and pain;
     And it’s O for a sight, tho’ it be a dream
30    Of the Briton’s beacon and pride —
     The cold gray Abbey which guards our ghosts
On Thames’s sacred side.

     But, lo, we have buried our fathers here,
        And here we have reared our sons,
35 These are our Britons, and here the word
        Of the British people runs;
     Wherefore the while we call you Home,
        And dream of your gentle shires,
     We are rooted here by the smile of our babes
40    And the pilgrim dust of our sires.

     Out of the grave our fathers reach
        Dead hands to hold us here,
     And never we open the earth with tears
        But the land becomes more dear—
45 Sweet with memory, brave with love,
        And proud with the hope ahead
     That our sons shall be stronger, our homes more fair,
When we go down to the dead.

     Loved, you are loved, O England,
50    And ever the love endures;
     But we must have younger passions,
        And mightier dreams than yours; [page 103]

     Cleaner Londons and wider fields,
        And a statelier bridge to span
55 The gulf which severs the rich and poor
In the brotherly ranks of Man.

     Yet with the bolder vision,
        We cleave to you, look to you still,
     That you gather our scattered toil and bind
60    Our strength in a single will;
     That you build with us out of the coasts of the earth,
        A realm, a race, and a rede
     That shall govern the peace of the world and serve
The humblest State in her need.

65 Haply we are but tools in the Hand
        Of a Power we do not know,
     And not for ourselves we plow the waste,
        And not for ourselves we sow;
     Yet by the vision that leads us on
70    To the goal of a single state,
     We are blessed that our own great weal is woofed
With strands of eternal Fate.

     Come, let us walk together,
        We who must follow one gleam,
75 Come, let us link our labours,
        And tell each other our dream;
     Shakespeare’s tongue for our counsels
        And Nelson’s heart for our task —
     Shall we not answer as one strong man
80    To the things that the people ask?
                            HAROLD BLOOM. [page 104]


     HAIL, Columbia, happy land!
     Hail, ye heroes!  heaven-born band,
     Who fought and bled in freedom’s cause,
     Who fought and bled in freedom’s cause,
5    And when the storm of war was gone,
     Enjoyed the peace your valour won.
     Let Independence be our boast,
     Ever mindful what it cost;
     Ever grateful for the prize,
10   Let its altar reach the skies.


          Firm, united let us be
          Rallying round our liberty!
          As a band of brothers join’d,
          Peace and safety we shall find.

15 Immortal patriots!  rise once more!
     Defend your rights, defend your shore:
     Let no rude foe with impious hand,
     Let no rude foe with impious hand,
     Invade the shrine where sacred lie
20 Of toil and blood the well-earn’d prize.
     While off’ring peace sincere and just,
     In heaven we place a manly trust,
     That truth and justice may prevail,
     And every scheme of bandage fail.

25 Sound, sound the trumpet of fame!
     Let Washington’s great name [page 105]
Ring through the world with loud applause!
     Ring through the world with loud applause!
     Let every clime to freedom dear,
30 Listen with a joyful ear;
     With equal skill, with steady power,
     He governed in the fearful hour
     Of horrid war, or guides with ease
The happier times of honest peace.

35 Behold the chief, who now commands,[lvii]
     Once more to serve his country stands —
     The rock on which the storm will beat!
     The rock on which the storm will beat!
     But armed in virtue, firm and true,
40 His hopes are fixed on heaven and you.
     When hope was sinking in dismay,
     When glooms obscured Columbia’s day,
     His steady mind from changes free,
Resolved on death or liberty.
                            JOSEPH HOPKINSON.


     OH, say!  can you see, by the dawn’s early light,
          What so proudly we hail’d at the twilight’s last gleaming—
     Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight, [page 106]
         O’er the ramparts we watch’d, were so gallantly streaming?
5    And the rocket’s red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
     Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there;
              Oh!  say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
              O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave?

     On that shore dimly seen thro’ the mists of the deep,
        Where the foe’s haughty host in dread silence reposes,
     What is that which the breeze o’er the towering steep,
        As it fitfully blows, now conceals, half discloses?
     Now it catches the gleam of the morning’s first beam,
     In full glory reflected now shines on the stream;
15          ‘Tis the star-spangled banner; oh!  long may it wave
              O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave!

     And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
        That the havoc of war and the battle’s confusion
     A home and a country should leave us no more?
20      Their blood has wash’d out their foul footsteps’ pollution.
     No refuge could save the hireling and slave
     From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave; [page 107]
              And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
              O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.

25   Oh!  thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
        Between their loved homes and the war’s desolation!
     Bless’d with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued land
        Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
     Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
30   And this be our motto, “In God is our trust:”
              And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
              O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.
                                                                           FRANCIS SCOTT KEY.


     MY country, ‘tis of thee,
     Sweet land of liberty,
        Of thee I sing;
     Land where my fathers died,
5    Land of the pilgrims’ pride,
     From every mountain side
        Let freedom ring. [page 108]

     My native country, thee,
     Land of the noble free,
10      Thy name I love;
     I love thy rocks and rills,
     Thy woods and templed hills;
     My heart with rapture thrills
        Like that above.

15   Let music swell the breeze,
     And ring from all the trees
        Sweet freedom’s song;
     Let mortal tongues awake,
     Let all that breathe partake,
20   Let rocks their silence break,
        The sound prolong.

     Our Fathers’ God, to Thee,
     Author of liberty,
        To Thee we sing;
25   Long may our land be bright
     With freedom’s holy light,
     Protect us by Thy might,
        Great God, our King.
                  SAMUEL FRANCIS SMITH.


     THE breaking wavesdash’d high
        On a stern and rock bound coast,
     And the woods against a stormy sky
        Their giant branches tost:

5   And the heavy night hung dark
        The hills and water o’er, [page 109]
     When a band of exiles moor’d their bark
        On the wild New England shore.

     Not as the conqueror comes,
10      They, the true-hearted, came,
     Not with the roll of the stirring drums,
        And the trumpet that sings of fame;

     Not as the flying come,
        In silence and in fear, —
15   They shook the depths of the desert’s gloom
       With their hymns of lofty cheer.

     Amidst the storm they sang,
        And the stars heard and the sea!
     And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang
20      To the anthem of the free.

     The ocean-eagle soar’d
        From his nest by the white wave’s foam,
     And the rocking pines of the forest roar’d—
        This was their welcome home!

25   There were men with hoary hair,
        Amidst that pilgrim-band —
     Why had they come to wither there
        Away from their childhood’s land?

     There was woman’s fearless eye,
30      Lit by her deep love’s truth;
     There was manhood’s brow serenely high,
        And the fiery heart of youth. [page 110]

     What sought they thus afar?
        Bright jewels of the mine?
35   The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? —
        They sought a faith’s pure shrine!

     Ay, call it holy ground,
        The soil where first they trod!
     They have left unstain’d what there they found, —
40       Freedom to worship God!
                                                          FELICIA HEMANS.


From The Building of the Ship

     THOU, too, sail on, O Ship of State!
     Sail on, O UNION, strong and great!
     Humanity with all its fears,
     With all the hopes of future years,
5    Is hanging breathless on thy fate!
     We know what Master laid thy keel,
     What Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel,
     Who made each mast, and sail, and rope,
     What anvils rang, what hammers beat,
10   In what a forge and what a heat
     Were shaped the anchors of thy hope!
     Fear not each sudden sound and shock,
     ‘Tis of the wave and not the rock;
     ‘Tis but the flapping of the sail,
15   And not a rent made by the gale!
     In spite of rock and tempest’s roar,
     In spite of false lights on the shore,
     Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea!
     Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee, [page 111]
20   Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears,
     Our faith triumphant o’er our fears,
     Are all with thee, — are all with thee!


     O CAPTAIN!  my Captain!  our fearful trip is done,
     The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won,
     The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
     While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
5          But O heart!  heart!  heart!
               O the bleeding drops of red,
            Where on the deck my Captain lies,
               Fallen cold and dead.

     O Captain!  my Captain!  rise up and hear the bells;
10   Rise up — for you the flag is flung — for you the bugle trills,
     For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths — for you the shores a-crowding,
     For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
            Here Captain!  dear father!
               This arm beneath your head!
15        It is some dream that on the deck
               You’ve fallen cold and dead. [page 112]

     My Captain does not answer, his lips and pale and still,
     My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
     The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
20   From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
            Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
               But I with mournful tread,
            Walk the deck my Captain lies,
               Fallen cold and dead.
                                                                    WALT WHITMAN.


     MINE eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord;
     He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;
     He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword;
                  His truth is marching on.

5   I have seen Him in the watch fires of a hundred circling camps;
     They have builded him an altar in the evening dews and damps;
     I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps:
                  His day is marching on. [page 113]

     I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of steel:
10   “As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal:”
     Let the Hero born of woman crush the serpent with his heel,
                  Since God is marching on.

     He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;
     He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment seat:
15   Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him!  be jubilant, my feet!
                  Our God is marching on.

     In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,
     With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me:
     As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,
20              While God is marching on.
                                                                            JULIA WARD HOWE.


     BY the flow of the inland river,
        Whence the fleets of iron have fled,
     Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver,
        Asleep are the ranks of the dead: [page 114]
5         Under the sod and the dew,
              Waiting the judgment-day;
           Under the one, the Blue,
Under the other, the Gray.[lxiii]

     These in the robings of glory,
10    Those in the gloom of defeat,
     All with the battle-blood gory,
        In the dusk of eternity meet:
           Under the sod and the dew,
              Waiting the judgment-day;
15       Under the laurel, the Blue,
Under the willow, the Gray.

     From the silence of sorrowful hours
        The desolate mourners go,
     Lovingly laden with flowers
20    Alike for the friend and the foe:[lxiv]
           Under the sod and the dew,
              Waiting the judgment-day;
           Under the roses, the Blue,
Under the lilies, the Gray.

25 So with an equal splendour,
        The morning sun-rays fall,
     With a touch impartially tender,
        On the blossoms blooming for all:
           Under the sod and the dew,
30          Waiting the judgment-day;
           Broidered with gold, the Blue,
Mellowed with gold, the Gray. [page 115]

     So, when the summer calleth,
        On forest and field of grain,
35   With an equal murmur falleth
        The cooling drip of the rain:
           Under the sod and the dew,
              Waiting the judgment-day;
           Wet with the rain, the Blue,
40          Wet with the rain, the Gray.

     Sadly, but not with upbraiding,
        The generous deed was done;
     In the storm of the years that are fading
        No braver battle was won:
45       Under the sod and the dew,
              Waiting the judgment-day;
           Under the blossoms, the Blue,
Under the garlands, the Gray.

     No more shall the war-cry sever,
50    Or the winding rivers be red;
     They banish our anger forever
        When they laurel the graves of our dead!
           Under the sod and the dew,
              Waiting the judgment-day;
55       Love and tears for the Blue,
              Tears and love for the Gray.
                              FRANCIS MILES FINCH.


     HATS off!
     Along the street there comes
     A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums, [page 116]
     A flash of colour beneath the sky:
5    Hats off!
     The flag is passing by.

     Blue and crimson and white it shines,
     Over the steel-tipped, ordered lines.
     Hats off!
15   The colours before us fly;
     But more than the flag is passing by.

     Sea-fights and land-fights, grim and great,
     Fought to make and to save the State:
     Weary marches and sinking ships;
15   Cheers of victory on dying lips;

     Days of plenty and years of peace;
     March of a strong land’s swift increase;
     Equal justice, right and law,
     Stately honour and reverend awe;

20   Sign of a nation great and strong
     To ward her people from foreign wrong:
     Pride and glory and honour, — all
     Live in the colours to stand or fall.

     Hats off!
25   Along the street there comes
     A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums;
     And loyal hearts are beating high:
     Hats off!
     The flag is passing by!
                              HENRY H. BENNETT. [page 117]



     THERE was a rover from a western shore,
     England!  whose eyes the sudden tears did drown,
     Beholding the white cliff and sunny down
Of thy good realm, beyond the sea’s uproar.
5   I, for a moment, dreamed that, long before,
     I had beheld them thus, when, with the frown
     Of sovereignty, the victor’s palm and crown
     Thou from the tilting-field of nations bore.
     Thy prowess and thy glory dazzled first;
10 But when in fields I saw the tender flame
     Of primroses, and full-fleeced lambs at play,
Meseemed I at thy breast, like these, was nursed;
     Then mother — Mother England!  —home I came,
     Like one who hath been all too long away!


15 As nestling at thy feet in peace I lay,
     A thought awoke and restless stirred in me:
     “My land and congeners are beyond the sea,
     Theirs is the morning and the evening day.
     Wilt thou give ear while this of them I say:
20 ‘Haughty art thou, and they are bold and free,
     As well befits who have descent from thee,
     And who have trodden brave the forlorn way.
     Children of thine, but grown to strong estate;
     Nor scorn from thee would they be slow to pay,
25 Nor check from thee submissly would they bear;
     Yet, Mother England, yet their hearts are great,
     And if for thee should dawn some darkest day,
     At cry of thine, how proudly would they dare!’”
                               EDITH M. THOMAS. [page 118]


   “The Flag of England,” written by Stephen O. Sherman of Boston, was recited for the first time by Mr. Grenville Kleiser of Toronto at Carnegie Lyceum, New York City, on February 2d and 3d, 1900, at the concerts in aid of the Widows and Orphans’ Fund in connection with the British soldiery engaged in the Boer War.  This poem has earned the distinction of an appreciative letter from Lord Roberts.  It was played by the bands in Pretoria (music by Marjorie Dawson) and was heartily welcomed by our forces in South Africa as an American testimony to the valour of our generals and soldiers.

     PROUD emblem of a mighty race
        That fronts a world in arms,
     And stands undaunted in its place,
        Unmoved by war’s alarms;
5    On lonely land, on stormy sea,
        Where waves like mountains rise,
     And Britons breathe forever free,
        The flag of England flies.

     O’er “thin red line” extending far
10    Through wilderness and plain,
     Beneath the Southern Cross, the star
        That lights the throbbing main;
     Above the frenzy of the fight,
        The soldier when he dies,
15   While battling bravely for the right,
        The flag of England flies.

     And high above her sailors free,
        Above the hearts of oak
     That “rule the wave” on every sea,
20    ‘Mid cannon-flash and smoke; [page 119]

     And high above her castles old,
        More loved than merchandise,
     Her treasures richer far than gold,
        The flag of England flies.

25   It floats beneath the tropic stars,
        ‘Mid Arctic storms and snow,
     Beside the borealis bars,
        The sunset’s orient glow;
     Above the southern storm-swept main,
30    ‘Mid Kaffir shouts and cries,
     And o’er the winding country lane,
        The flag of England flies.

     That torch, forever in the sky,
        O’er distant seas and lands,
35   Is carried everywhere on high
        By Anglo-Saxon hands;
     And where it brightens — progress, thought,
        And grateful prayers arise,
     Where slaves are never bought nor sold
40    The flag of England flies.

     Amid the maddened curse and yell,
        Amid the sulphurous breath,
     From guns that belch the flame of hell
        And breathe the fire of death
45   On foes determined, who have met
        In demon’s fitting guise,
     ‘Mid horrid stress, victorious yet,
        The flag of England flies.

     It points the way to higher planes,
50    Resists oppression’s course, [page 120]
     And, high above the sacred fanes,
        Above the busy bourse,
     And o’er the bloody, fire-swept hill,
        A promise in the skies,
55   Throughout the world, triumphant still,
        The flag of England flies.
                                           STEPHEN O. SHERMAN.


     GOD save our lord, the King,
     Long live our noble King,
          God save the King!
     Send him victorious,
5    Happy and glorious,
     Long to reign over us, —
          God save the King!

     O Lord our God, arise,
     Scatter his enemies,
10        And make them fall.
     Confound their politics,
     Frustrate their knavish tricks;
     On Thee our hopes we fix;
          O save us all!

15   Thy choicest gifts in store,
     On him be pleased to pour, —
          Long may he rein! [page 121]
     May he defend our laws,
     And ever give us cause,
20   To sing with heart and voice,
          “God save the King!”
                                HENRY CAREY.


Dedicated to the Canadian Clubs of the Dominion

     WHEN our fathers crossed the ocean
        In the glorious days gone by,
     They breathed their deep emotion
        In many a tear and sigh,
5   Tho’ a brighter lay before them
     Than the old, old land that bore them,
     And all the wide world knows now
        That land was Canada.

           Then line up and try us,
10       Whoever would deny us
           The freedom of our birthright,
           And they’ll find us like a wall,
           For we are Canadian, Canadian forever,
              Canadian forever, Canadian over all.

15 Our fathers came to win us
        This land beyond recall,
     And the same blood flows within us
Of Briton, Celt, and Gaul. [page 122]
     Keep alive each glowing ember
20 Of our sireland, but remember
     That we are Canadian
        Whatever may befall.

           Then line up and try us,
           Whoever would deny us
25       The freedom of our birthright,
           And they’ll find us like a wall,
           For we are Canadian, Canadian forever,
              Canadian forever, Canadian over all.

     Who can blame them, who can blame us,
30    If we tell ourselves with pride
     How a thousand years to tame us
        The foe has often tried?
     And should e’er the Empire need us
     She’ll require no chains to lead us,
35 For we are Empire’s children,
But Canadian over all.

           Then line up and try us,
           Whoever would deny us
           The freedom of our birthright,
40       And they’ll find us like a wall,
           For we are Canadian, Canadian forever,
              Canadian forever, Canadian over all.
                              DR. W. H. DRUMMOND. [page 123]



   This poem is reproduced by the kind permission of Messers. Whaley Royce & Co., Ltd., of Toronto, the owners of the Canadian copyright, from whom the music may be obtained.

5       Canada, Canada, loyal and free!
            Gem in Britannia’s crown ever to be;
         Spreading broad pinions o’er matchless dominions,
            Canada!  Mother!  Our homage to thee!

        Rose and leak, thistle and shamrock combining,
10         Lilies of France with their blooms manifold,
        Leaves of the maple their beauties entwining,
           Where can the world such a garland behold?

       Sons to watch over thee, dauntless and wary,
           Fairest of daughters to comfort and charm,
15     Greet thee from mountain, lake, forest, and prairie,
           Queen of the city, the mine, and the farm.

       So let our chorus, our hymn of devotion,
          Rise from the border and ring to the pole,
       Eastward and westward, from ocean to ocean,
20        Never to cease while the centuries roll.
                                                  HAROLD BOULTON. [page 124]


     IN days of yore, from Britain’s shore
          Wolfe the dauntless hero came,
     And planted firm Britannia’s flag
          On Canada’s fair domain.
5   Here may it wave, our boast, our pride,
          And joined in love together,
     The Thistle, Shamrock, Rose entwine
          The Maple Leaf for ever!

          The Maple Leaf, our emblem dear,
10           The Maple Leaf for ever!
          God save our King and Heaven bless
               The Maple Leaf for ever!

     At Queenston’s Heights and Lundy’s Lane,
          Our brave fathers, side by side,
15   For freedom, homes, and loves ones dear,
          Firmly stood and nobly died;
     And those dear rights which they maintained,
          We swear to yield them never!
     Our watchword evermore shall be,
20        The Maple Leaf for ever!

     Our fair Dominion now extends
          From Cape Race to Nootka Sound;
     May peace for ever be out lot,
          And plenteous store abound:
25   And may those ties of love be ours
          Which discord cannot sever,
     And flourish green o’er Freedom’s home,
          The Maple Leaf for ever! [page 125]

     On Merry England’s far-famed land
30      May kind Heaven sweetly smile;
     God bless Old Scotland evermore,
          And Ireland’s Emerald Isle!
     Then swell the song both loud and long,
          Till rocks and forest quiver,
35   God save our King, and Heaven bless
          The Maple Leaf for ever!
                                        ALEXANDER MUIR.


     YE sons of France, awake to glory!
        Hark, hark, what myriads bid you rise!
     Your children, wives, and grandsires hoary, —
        Behold their tears and hear their cries.
5    Shall hateful tyrants mischiefs breeding,
        With hireling hosts, a ruffian band,
        Affright and desolate the land,
     While peace and liberty lie bleeding?


               To arms, to arms, ye brave!
10                Th’ avenging sword unsheath!
               March on, march on, all hearts resolved
                  On victory or death!

     Now, now the dangerous storm is rolling
        Which treacherous kings confederate raise;
15  The dogs of war, let loose, are howling,
        And lo, our walls and cities blaze. [page 126]

     And shall we basely view the ruin,
        While lawless force, with guilty stride,
        Spreads desolation far and wide,
20   With crimes and blood his hands imbruing?

     With luxury and pride surrounded,
        The vile, insatiate despots dare,
     Their thirst of gold and power unbounded,
        To mete and vend the light and air.
25   Like beasts of burden would they load us,
        Like gods, would bid their slave adore!
        But man is man, and who is more?
     Then, shall they longer lash and goad us?

     O Liberty, can man resign thee,
30      Once having felt thy generous flame?
     Can dungeons, bolts, or bars confine thee?
        Or whips thy noble spirit tame?
     Too long the world has wept, bewailing
        That falsehood’s dagger tyrants wield, —
35   But freedom is our sword and shield,
     And all their arts are unavailing.
                                 ROUGET DE LISLE.


   This poem and the national songs that follow are taken from the World’s Collection of Patriotic Songs and Airs of Different Nations, published by Oliver Ditson Company, of Boston, by whose kind permission they are here produced.

A ROAR like thunder strikes the ear,
Like clang of arms or breakers near, [page 127]
           Rush forward for the German Rhine!
           Who shields thee, dear beloved Rhine?


5    Dear Fatherland, thou need’st not fear, —
        Thy Rhineland watch stands firmly here!
     Dear land, dear Fatherland, thou need’st not fear,
     Thy watch, thy Rhineland watch stands firmly here!

           A hundred thousand hearts beat high,
10         The flash darts forth from ev’ry eye,
           For Teutons brave, inured by toil,
           Protect their country’s holy soil.

           When heavenwards ascends the eye,
           Our heroes’ ghosts look down from high;
15         We swear to guard our dear bequest,
           And shield it with the German breast.

           As long as German blood still flows,
           The German sword strikes mighty blows.
           The German marksmen take their stand,
20         No foe shall tread our native land!

           We take the pledge, the stream runs high,
           Our banners proud are wafting high;
           On for the Rhine, the German Rhine!
           We all die for our native Rhine.

25   Hence, Fatherland, be of good cheer, —
        Thy Rhineland watch stands firmly here!
     Dear land, dear Fatherland, thou need’st not fear,
     Thy watch, thy Rhineland watch stands firmly here! 
                                     MAX SCHNECKENBURGER. [page 128]


          ALL forward!  All forward!
     All forward to battle!  the trumpets are crying,
     All forward!  All forward!  our old flag is flying,
     When Liberty calls us we linger no longer;
5    Rebels, come on!  though a thousand to one!
     Liberty!  Loberty!  deathless and glorious,
     Under thy banner thy sons are victorious,
     Free souls are valiant, and strong arms are stronger,
     God shall go with us, and battle be won.


10        Hurrah for the banner!
               Hurrah for the banner!
          Hurrah for our banner, the flag of the free.

          All forward!  All forward!
     All forward for Freedom!  In terrible splendour
15   She comes to the loyal who die to defend her;
     Her stars and stripes o’er the wild wave of battle
Shall float in the heavens to welcome us on.
     All forward!  to glory, tho’ life-blood is pouring,
     Where bright swords are flashing, and cannons are roaring,
20 Welcome to death in the bullet’s quick rattle, — fighting or falling shall freedom be won.

          All forward!  All forward!
     All forward to conquer!  Where free hearts are beating,
     Death to the coward who dreams of retreating! [page 129]
25   Liberty calls us from mountain and valley;
     Waving her banner she leads to the fight.
     Forward!  all forward!  the trumpets are crying;
     The drum beats to arms, our old flag is flying;
     Stout hearts and strong hands around it shall rally.
30 Forward to battle, for God and the Right!


     GOD uphold thee, mighty Emp’ror,
Monarch of our Eastern land.
     Power and Wisdom e’er attend thee,
        Righteousness with thee shall stand,
5   Till with laurel crown’d, a victor,
        All hearts bow at thy command.
     God uphold thee, and defend thee,
Emp’ror of our Austrian land!

     Happy flow’ry land!  His sceptre
10    Rules o’er valley, mount, and plain.
     Mildly, calmly, justly ruleth,
        He the people’s love would gain.
     Yet his weaponed might in splendour
        Beams thro’ all the land amain.
15 God uphold thee, warrior, Father,
        Monarch of the Austrian land!

     He delights the poor to cherish,
        He awakes the minstrel’s lay,
     He would not that any perish,
20    All admire the gentle sway.
     “Heav’n reward him, God defend him,”
        Thus we sing, and thus we pray. [page 130]
     Kaiser, Emperor, Monarch, Father,
All thy peaceful rule obey!

25 He from bondage will deliver,
        He would make us truly free!
     In the German heart shall ever
        He the brightest mem’rybe.
     Till in other worlds, a welcome
30    Greets in blest eternity.
     God defend thee, God attend thee,
Emp’ror, Franz, all hail to thee!


     WHERE is the German Fatherland?
Is’t Swabia?is’t Prussia’s strand?
Is’t where the Rhine’s green vineyards bloom?
     Or where the Baltic sea-gulls roam?
5      More grand and free,
     The German Fatherland must be,
     The German Fatherland must be.

     Where is the German Fatherland?
Bavaria, or Styrian land?
10 ‘Tis surely Austria’s fertile shores,
Rich in the pride of many wars.
        Oh, no, more grand,
     The limits of the Fatherland,
The limits of the Fatherland.

15 Where is the German Fatherland?
Pom’rania, Westphalian land? [page 131]
Is’t where the dreary coast-sands lie?
     Or where the Danube dashes by?
        Yet still more grand,
20 The limits of the Fatherland,
The limits of the Fatherland.

     Then name to me the mighty land,
Which is the German’s Fatherland;
     Yet Tyrol may the answer tell,
25 Its land and people pleased me well.
        Thou hast not spanned
     The limits of the Fatherland,
The limits of the Fatherland.

     Where is the German Fatherland?
30 Oh, name to me the mighty land.
Where’er is known the German word,
     Where German hymns to God are heard.
          This it shall be,
          This it shall be.
35 Oh!  German, it belongs to thee,
          To none but thee!

     All Germany shall be the land;
     Watch o’er it, Heav’n, with saving hand,
     And give us strength and courage too,
40 That we may love it well and true.
          This it shall be,
          This it shall be.
          Oh!  German, it belongs to thee!
          This is it shall be,
45 All Germany the land shall be. [page 132]


     SONS of Greece, come, arise, see at last our freedom’s hour.
     Hellas stands, cloth’d anew, in her ancient bond of power.
                    Oh, let the tyrants tremble,
                    As we in rank assemble!
5                  To arms, to arms, we call,
                    Ye people, one and all!
                    To arms, to arms, we call,
                    Ye people, one and all!
     The sword!  the sword!  the sword!  the sword!  the sword!  the sword!
10                To arms, to arms, we call,
                    Ye people, one and all!
                    To arms, to arms, we call,
                    Ye people, one and all!

     Fear ye not, sons of Greece, that ye few are, or forsaken;
15 Europe now doth arise, — she your cause in arms has taken.
Roumeliansfam’d in story,
Morea’s songs of glory!
                    Arise, and dash the brand
                    In all the Turkish land!
20                Arise, and dash the brand
                    In all the Turkish land!
     The brand!  the brand!  the brand!  the brand!  the brand!  the brand!
                    Arise, and dash the brand
                    In all the Turkish land! [page 133]
25                Arise, and dash the brand
                    In all the Turkish land!

     Hark!  oh hark!  Hellas’ maid groans beneath the yoke appalling!
     Hear ye not?  help!  oh help!  on her sons is Hellas calling.
                    To burst her bonds asunder;
30                To break the yoke she’s under!
                    To raise towards the sky
                    Proud sign of victory!
                    To raise towards the sky
                    Proud sign of victory!
35 The sword!  the sword!  the sword!  the sword!  the sword!  the sword!
                    To raise towards the sky
                    Proud sign of victory!
                    To raise towards the sky
                    Proud sign of victory!

40 Oh, ye Greeks, be but brave, the barbarians despising,
     They are mean, they are bad, though in endless numbers rising.
                    From slavery we’ll sever!
                    Ha!  liberty forever!
                    Now forward through the flood,
45                Through foeman’s crimson blood!
                    Now forward through the flood,
                    Through foemen’s crimson blood!
     The sword!  the sword!  the sword!  the sword!  the sword!  the sword!
                    Now forward through the flood,
50                Through the foemen’s crimson blood! [page 134]
                    Now forward through the flood,
                    Through foemen’s crimson blood!


     LET him in whom old Dutch blood flows,
        Untainted, free, and strong;
     Whose heart for Prince and country glows,
        Now join us in our song;
5    Let him with us lift up his voice,
        And sing in patriot band,
     The song at which all hearts rejoice,
        For Prince and Fatherland,
        For Prince and Fatherland!

10   We brothers, true unto a man,
        Will sing the old song yet;
     Away with him, whoever can
        His Prince or land forget!
     A human heart glow’d in him ne’er,
15    We turn from him our hand,
     Who callous hears the song and pray’r
        For Prince and Fatherland,
        For Prince and Fatherland!

     Preserve, O God, the dear old ground
20      Thou to our fathers gave;
     The land where we a cradle found,
        And where we’ll find a grave!
     We call, O Lord, to Thee on high,
        As near death’s door we stand,
25   Oh!  safety, blessing is our cry,
        For Prince and Fatherland,
        For Prince and Fatherland! [page 135]

     Loud ring thro’ all rejoicings here,
        Our pray’r, O Lord, to Thee!
30   Preserve our Prince, his House, so dear
        To Holland, great and free!
     From youth thro’ life, be this our song,
        Till near to death we stand;
     O God, preserve our sov’reign long,
35      Our Prince and Fatherland,
        Our Prince and Fatherland!


     OH!  blest be the days when the Green Banner floated,
        Sublime o’er the mountains of free Innisfail,
     When her sons to her glory and freedom devoted,
        Defied the invader to tread her soil,
5    When back o’er the main they chas’d the Dane,
        And gave to religion and learning their spoil,
     When valour and mind together combined;
        But wherefore lament o’er the glories departed,
     Her stars shall shine out with as vivid a ray.
10      For ne’er had she children more brave and true-hearted
     Than those she now sees on Saint Patrick’s day.

     Her sceptre, alas!  pass’d away to the stranger;
        And treason surrendered what valour had held;
     But true hearts remain’d amid darkness and danger,
15      Which, spite of her tyrants, would not be quelled.
     Oft, oft, thro’ the night flash’d gleams of light,
        Which almost the darkness of bondage dispell’d; [page 136]
     But a star now is near, her heaven to cheer,
        Not like the wild gleams which so fitfully darted,
20   But long to shine down with its hallowing ray,
        On daughters as fair and sons as true-hearted
     As Erin beholds on Saint Patrick’s day.

     Oh!  blest be the hour, when begirt by her cannon,
        And hailed as it rose by a Nation’s applause,
25   That flag waved aloft o’er the spire of Dungannon,
        Asserting for Irishmen, Irish Laws.
     Once more shall it wave, o’er hearts as brave,
        Despite of the dastards who mock at her cause,
     And like brothers agreed, whatever their creed,
30      Her children, inspired by those glories departed,
     No longer in darkness desponding will stay,
        But join in her cause like the brave and true-hearted,
     Who rise for their rights on Saint Patrick’s day.


     O SONS of Norway, the bold ancient kingdom,
        Sing forth her praise to the harp’s sweetest tone!
     Now in your freedom proclaim her proud story;
        Gladly to honour your Norway alone!
5                  Homage and glory now,
                    Find in her story now!
        Tell to the world how her patriots would live!
     Swells ev’ry heart, now, and glows ev’ry cheek,
     While honour to Norway in glad song we give.

10   Mountains with snow-caps, and valleys so fruitful!
        Seas filled with fish in abundance for all! [page 137]
     Ah!  how we love thee, with love that endureth!
        Glad at thy summons, for thee would we fall!
                    Dearest and native land,
15                For thee we e’er would stand,
        Firm in defense as the Norsemen of yore!
        Prosper and thrive in thy glory and strength,
     Till the dark waves no longer resound on thy shore.


     POLAND’S not yet dead in slav’ry,
        She once more shall reign;
     What she loft her children’s brav’ry
        Soon will free again!
5   Skrzynecki leads us on, —
     Hark!  the battle fray is raging;
        Poland shall be free!
        Crush all tyranny!


Skrzynecki leads us on, —
10       Hark!  the battle fray is raging;
              Poland shall be free!
              Crush all tyranny!

     Polish blood’s already flowing,
        But our swords are drawn.
15 Hope in each brave heart is glowing —
        All to fight are gone!
Skrzynecki leads us on, —
     Hark!  the battle fray is raging;
        Poland shall be free!
20    Crush all tyranny! [page 138]

See the Czar’s great army shatter’d
        In its proud array!
     See his conquer’d legions scatter’d.
        Poles have gain’d the day!
25 Skrzynecki leads us on, —
     Hark!  the battle fray is raging;
        Poland shall be free!
        Crush all tyranny!

     Dear white eagles, fly ye ever
30    O’er us, proud and free!
Ev’ry bond to-day we’ll sever
Of foul tyranny.
Skrzynecki leads us on, —
     Hark!  the battle ray is raging;
35    Poland shall be free!
        Crush all tyranny!


     ONCE the Sultan of the world, he spake, and lo! the soldiers all
     Ready stood, encas’d in armour, at their mighty ruler’s call.
     Once the Sultan of the world, he spake, and lo!  the soldiers all
     Ready stood, encas’d in armour, at their mighty ruler’s call.
5                In his cause, like men of valour,
                  Then became both young and old,
     In his cause, like men of valour, then became both young and old. —
     God will help us save the Sultan, ‘neath whose shadow all are bold! [page 139]

     Then the soldiers fought and conquer’d, near and distant they were fam’d,
10 Nations all, with fear and trembling, feats of wondrous prowess nam’d.
     Then the soldiers fought and conquer’d, near and distant they were fam’d.
     Nations all, with fear and trembling, feats of wondrous prowess nam’d.
                  All who heard admired their valour,
                  When the warlike deeds were told,
15 All who heard admired their valour, when the war-like deeds were told. —
     God will help us save the Sultan, ‘neath whose shadow all are bold!

     Mighty was th’ Imperial army, ever mightier it grew,
20 North and south, and east and west, all lands the name of Turkey knew!
                  Honoured high was then our ruler,
                  He unbounded sway did hold,
     Honoured high was then our ruler, he unbounded sway did hold. —
     Lord, oh, help us save the Sultan, ‘neath whose shadow all are bold!

25 Turks, ha!  saved with God’s assistance, shall our noble monarch be,
     He’ll Constantinople’s children make again both rich and free!
     Turks, ha!  saved with God’s assistance, shall our noble monarch be,
     He’ll Constantinople’s children make again both rich and free!
                  Rich and happy he will make them,
30              Like in glorious days of old.
     Rich and happy he will make them, like in glorious days of old. —
     Lord, oh, help us save the Sultan, ‘neath whose shadow all are bold!
                                                              REDGEB PACHA.


     MEN of Harlech!  In the hollow,
     Do ye hear, like rushing billow,
     Wave on wave that surging follow,
Battle’s distant sound?
5   ‘Tis the tramp of Saxon foemen,
     Saxon, spearmen, Saxon bowmen, —
     Be they knights, or hinds, or yeomen,
     They shall bite the ground!
     Loose the folds asunder,
10 Flag we conquer under!
     The placid sky now bright on high
     Shall launch its bolts in thunder!
     Onward!  ‘tis our country needs us,
     He is bravest, he who leads us!
15 Honour’s self now proudly heads us!
     Freedom!  God, and Right. [page 141]
     Rocky steeps and passes narrow,
     Flash with spear and flight of arrow,
     Who would think of death and sorrow?
20 Death is glory now!
     Hurl the reeling horseman over,
     Let the earth dead foeman cover!
     Fate of friend, of wife, of lover
     Trembles on a blow!
25 Strands of life are given,
     Blow for blow is given,
     In deadly lock, or battle shock,
     And mercy shrieks to heaven!
     Men of Harlech!  young or hoary,
30 Would you win a name in story!
     Strike for home, for life, for glory!
     Freedom!  God, and Right!
                       Translated by WM. DUTHIE.



Translated from the Japanese by A. Lloyd.[lxx]

(A popular ballad which I found with this refrain in a Japanese magazine.  I have translated it fairly literally, with the exception of the last stanza, which contained a play upon words which it was quite out of my power to reproduce.  The piety of the last stanza is a little accentuated in the translation. — A. LLOYD.)

     WIDE as the firmament above
     Spreads over us our country’s love,
     While deeper far than ocean’s bed
     Our Soverign’s mercy doth us stead.
5       Your gratitude now would you show?
Imatokinaruzo. [page 142]

     Heroes of the Sacred Land,
     In grim array of war that stand,
     Sworn to defend your country’s right
10   With steeled hearts and fists clenched tight,
         Your loyal bravery would you show?

     Man’s life is but a little space:
     In fifty years he’s run his race;
15   Sooner or later he must die;
     With chivalry and loyally
         To death for Japan would ye go?

     Heroes that, all along the shore,
20   Lest the fierce foe his army pour
     Into these isles, stand sentinel,
     Do your duty brave and well.
         The hour of danger would ye know?

25   Trusty seamen of the fleet,
     Would ye know when best to meet
     Your foe with storm of shot and shell,
     From every floating citadel,
          From guns above and guns below?
30    Imatokinaruzo.

     Would you know when best to hurl
     Through black of night and running swirl
     The fell torpedo dealing death?
     Would you, holding fast our breath
35       Deal the swift and secret blow?
Imatokinaruzo. [page 143]

     Now’s the time for deeds of fame;
     Small your country, great her name.
     Bear and watch, endure and toil
40   Think of glory, not of spoil,
          Strike, and heaven direct the blow!
Imatokinaruzo. [page 144]

[4 blank pages]

[i]This splendid passage is part of Gaunt’s dying speech “Richard II.”  It appeared in an anthology, “England’s Parnassus,” as early as 1600.

[ii]These are the closing lines of “King John,” a play that breathes the spirit of defiance to England’s foes.

[iii] Boadicea, the wife of Prasutagus, King of the Iceni, a tribe in Eastern Britain.  Prasutagus, to secure his kingdom and family from molestation, on his death bequeathed his great wealth to his daughters jointly with the Roman Emperor.  The will was made by the Roman officials a pretext for the spoliation of the whole property.  Boadicea, in the troublous times that followed, was flogged, and her family was treated shamefully.  The result was that the Iceni revolted from the Romans, 62 A. D.

[iv] Seven years before the publication of “The Task” the Earl of Chatham (William Pitt) had died. His last speech in the House of Lords was made April 2d, 1778, in support of peace with the American colonies.

[v]This is usually styled “Bruce’s Address.”  Burns, in a letter to a friend, said, “There is a tradition which I have met with in many places in Scotland that it [“Hey tuttie tattie”] was Robert Bruce’s march in the battle of Bannockburn.  This thought, in my solitary wanderings, warmed me to a pitch of enthusiasm on the theme of liberty and independence, which I threw into a kind of Scottish ode fitted to the air, that one might suppose to be the gallant royal Scot’s address to his heroic followers on that eventful day.”

[vi]This was written in 1802 or 1803, when an invasion by Napoleon was threatened.

[vii] The quotation is from an Elizabethan poet, Daniel, author of “Books of the Civil Wars.”

[viii]This battle is usually called the Battle of Copenhagen, a victory gained by Nelson over the British fleet, April 2d, 1801.

[ix] Captain Riou, justly entitled “the gallant and the good” by Lord Nelson when he wrote home his dispatches.

[x]The speaker, presented as a maiden appealing to her lover, is Ireland personified.

[xi] The Persian name of the nightingale.

[xii] The linnet.

[xiii] The Picard field is the battle of Crécy, 1346, in which Edward III. defeated the French. The flower of French chivalry and the King of Bohemia, fighting for France, were slain in the battle. Here the Black Prince gained his spurs, and adopted the triple feather crest of the fallen Bohemian king, with the motto Ichdien, still worn by our princes of Wales.

[xiv]These are the opening lines of the most famous of Tennyson’s three political poems, written in 1883.

[xv]These stanzas are from another of the three political poems mentioned in the foregoing note.  No truer or terser description of the government of England could be made.

[xvi]Tennyson wrote this spirited poem in December, 1854, after reading the first report in “The Times” of the heroic but vain charge of the Light Brigade at Balaclava.

[xvii]The glorious “Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington,” from which this extract is taken, was originally published on the day of the Duke’s funeral.  The Duke of Wellington died on September 14, 1852, in his eighty-fourth year.

[xviii] The cross of gold is on St. Paul’s Cathedral, in the crypt of which the Duke is buried.

[xix] The question is asked by the mighty seaman, Nelson, who is also buried in St. Paul’s.

[xx] Assaye is a small town in Hindostan. On that field Wellington (then General Wellesley) began his great career in 1803 by defeating an army of thirty thousand with a small force of less than five thousand.

[xxi] The rampart lines were the lines of fortification extending from Torres Vedras to the Tagus. The longest of these lines extended twenty-nine miles.

[xxii] The day of Waterloo, Sunday, June 18, 1815.

[xxiii]This ode was written on the occasion of Queen Victoria’s Jubilee, after she had reigned for fifty years over the British peoples.

[xxiv] The boundless West refers to the United States of America.

[xxv] See Levitieus xxv. 10: “And ye shall hallow the fiftieth year, and proclaim liberty throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof: it shall be a jubilee unto you; and ye shall return every man unto his possession, and ye shall return every man unto his family.”

[xxvi]This poem was written during the South African War, when at the call of “the old sea-mother” Canada and Australia sent contingent after contingent to fight against the Boers.

[xxvii]A line-of-battle ship captured from the French at the battle of Nile, August 1, 1798.  She fought next to the Victory at the battle of Trafalgar, October 21, 1805.  She was broken up in 1838, and in 1839 Turner exhibited at the Royal Academy his great picture, “The Fighting Téméraire.”

[xxviii]Edward Hawke, a famous English admiral (1705-1781).  The stirring incidents of the poem are historical.  In 1739 he took charge of a squadron sent to cruise off Brest on the coast of France.  On the morning of the 20th of November he sighted the French fleet under Conflans off Belleisle, and although the French, familiar with the shallows and rocks of the coast, retired towards the shore, Hawke engaged them with such impetuosity that he would have utterly destroyed them had not nightfall intervened.  As it was, more than half their vessels were captured, disabled, or driven on shore.  For this brilliant victory, gained in such perilous circumstances, Hawke was congratulated and pensioned by the House of Commons.

[xxix] The old teacher with the militant spirit is fittingly called “Ionicus.”

[xxx] An English general. He served under Wellington in the Peninsular War. The capture of Badajoz (1812) was effected chiefly through his daring and skill. At the battle of Quatre Bras he was dangerously wounded, and two days later on the field of Waterloo, he was killed.

[xxxi] Another famous English general in the Peninsular War.

[xxxii] The flag-ship of Nelson at Trafalgar.

[xxxiii] The origin of the title of this poem is of special interest.  Two young Frenchmen of Maisonneuve’s time lost their way on Mount Royal during a severe snowstorm.  In deadly peril of their lives they vowed that should the Virgin Mother restore them to their friends they would raise a cross in memory of their deliverance.  Having been spared, they erected the cross and dedicated it to “Our Lady of the Snows.”  The last Hon. Thomas D’Arcy McGee wrote a beautiful poem commemorative of the event, entitled, “Our Lady of the Snows.”  Côte des Neiges is still the name of the village situated between the summits of the two mountains which as a whole are termed Mount Royal.  (The editor is indebted to Dr. W. H/ Drummond for the foregoing note).

In Kipling’s “Five Nation’s” this poem has under its title the words:  “Canadian Preferential Tariff, 1897.”  Like many of Kipling’s poems this one has outgrown its occasion.  Its scope has altered and developed, and some of the lines seem prophetic of subsequent events.  “I am lost in the battle” came true in 1900 on the field of Paardeberg.

[xxxiv] This hymn was written on the occasion of the “Diamond Jubilee” of Queen Victoria, when “the captains and the kings” were departing and all the pomp and pageantry had passed.

[xxxv] These insignificant places seem to emphasise the wide range of British adventure and daring. (It is taken for granted that “Ducies” is the island called “Ducies” or “Ducie” off the southwest coast of South America, and that “The Swin” is the loch of that name on the west coast of Scotland. It is possible that Mr. Kipling had other uncharted places in view.)

[xxxvi] The ship in which Francis Drake sailed around the world (1577-1580). The old ship was preserved for over a century as a monument of Drake’s and England’s glory.

[xxxvii] An island in the extreme north of Europe; some say Iceland; some say Mainland, the largest of the Shetland Islands. The word is used by poets to designate some unknown, far-distant, northern region of ice and snow.

[xxxviii] Brock’s monument.

[xxxix] Mr. Roberts in his “History of Canada” tells the story thus: “Not without deep meaning to the whole empire is the fact that when Sir Garnet Wolseley, in 1884, was dispatched up the Nile with an army to relieve Khartoum and rescue Gordon from the Soudan rebels, he took with him five hundred Canadian
boatmen to help him through the storied barrier of the Cataracts. He had not forgotten the skill and daring shown by the Canadian troops when he was leading the Red River Expedition through the wilderness beyond Lake Superior.”

[xxxx] See Roberts’s “History of Canada” (p. 70): “Among the names of the heroes of Canada abides imperishably that of Daula des Ormeaux, familiarly known as Dollard.” He with sixteen comrades kept seven hundred yelling Iroquois at bay for three days. The little band was gradually overcome and destroyed. “This new Thermopylæ,” says Roberts, “was not less glorious than that immortal one of old.”

[xxxxi] This was Charles de le Tour who with his wife of gallant fame held a fort at the mouth of the St. john for several years against the infamous Charnisay.

[xxxxii] The Thames. The battle of Moravian Town, in which Tecumseh was killed, is also called the Battle of the Thames. (Oct. 5, 1913.)

[xxxxiii] The Missiguash, whose passage was forced prior to the fall of Beauséjour (1755).

[xxxxiv] “In 1549 he (de Roberval) organized another expedition to Canada, the fate of which is one of the romantic secrets of history. A dim tradition would have us believe that the adventurers sailed up the Saguenay, seeking a kingdom of pearls and strange enchantments; and that no man of the company ever returned through the bleak portals of that wizard stream.” (Roberts’s History.)

[xxxxv] Baron de Poutrincourt, a companion of Champlain, who received a grant of land from the king of France on the Annapolis Basin, calling the place Port Royal.

[xxxxvi] Lemoine d’Iberville was a native Canadian, born in Montreal in 1661. He performed many daring exploits for France over a region extending from Hudson Bay to Louisiana.

[xxxxvii] In the Riel Rebellion of 1885.

[xxxxviii] De Salaberry’s victory at Chateauguay in 1813 “was perhaps,” says Roberts, “the most glorious in the whole course of a war which brought much flory to our arms.”

[xxxxix] Robert Louis Stevenson.

[l] Colin Campbell of Lucknow.

[li] Sir Donald Mackay, of the famous Dutch Regiment that helped to save Holland in the Thirty Years’ War.

[lii] Gordon of Khartoum.

[liii] In the South African War Lord Strathcona, at his own expense, raised, armed, and equipped the North West of Canada a corpse of four hundred “rough riders.”  They were men of fine physique, good horsemen, and excellent shots.

[liv]This brilliant exploit occurred during the operations in Tirah, India, against the savage hillmen (1897).

[lv]See William Watson’s “Last Word:  To the Colonies” on an earlier page.

[lvi]This famous ode was written in 1798, the year before Washington died.

[lvii] Washington, in 1798, was appointed commander-in-chief of the army in anticipation of a war with France.

[lviii]This poem stands at the head of American national songs.  It was written by the author when he was a prisoner on board a British vessel during the bombardment of Fort McHenry at the entrance of Baltimore harbour in 1814.

[lix]This is sun to the air of “God save the King.”  It was composed in 1832.

[lx]This poem has reference to the death of Lincoln, at the close of the American Civil War, April 15th, 1865.

[lxi]This hymn is imperishably connected with the American Civil War.  It was written in 1861 after the author’s observing in the camps near Washington, how enthusiastically the soldiers marched to the song “John Brown’s Body.”  The “Hymn” was at once adopted and sung throughout the North.

[lxii]This appeared first in the “Atlantic Monthly” in 1867.  It is now a national classic in the United States.

[lxiii] Blue and gray were the colours of the uniforms of the Northern and Southern troops respectively.

[lxiv] The graves of soldiers and sailors who fell in the American Civil War (1861-65) are decorated on Memorial Day (Decoration Day), May 30th.

[lxv]Originally written by Henry Carey in 1740, in honour of a birthday of George II.  Both words and music are by this writer.  The air has preserved its original form, but its harmonies have been modified by successive artists.  The words have also undergone slight changes.  The air has become a national air of the United States, of the German Empire, of Switzerland, and of Norway.

[lxvi]This poem has not appeared in any of Dr. Drummond’s works.  It was written about a year ago for music.  It needs only a suitable air to make it a popular Canadian national song from ocean to ocean.

[lxvii]This hymn was written in 1789, a few days after the fall of the Bastille.  In France it has never met with its rival.

[lxviii]This song was little known in Germany till 1870, the year of the outbreak of the Franco-German war. Then it suddenly became the battle-cry of the invading German hosts.

[lxix]Harlech Castle stands on a lofty rock upon the sea-shore of Merionethshire.  By the order of KingxEdward IV, the Earl of Pembroke led a powerful army against Harlech and demanded its surrender.  After a long siege the intrepid defenders of the castle were obliged by famine to capitulate.

[lxx]This poem first appeared in The Independent, New York, a few months after the outbreak of the Russo- Japanese War.

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