To England

Lear and Cordelia! ’t was an ancient tale Before thy Shakespeare gave it deathless fame: The times have changed, the moral is the same. So like an outcast, dowerless, and pale, Thy daughter went; and in a foreign gale Spread her young banner, till its sway became A wonder to the nations. Days of shame Are close upon thee: prophets raise their wail. When the rude Cossack with an outstretched hand Points his long spear across the narrow sea,— “Lo! there is England!” when thy destiny Storms on thy straw-crowned head, and thou dost stand Weak, helpless, mad, a by-word in the land,— God grant thy daughter a Cordelia be!