I
the voice of England is a trumpet tone
When that inviolate Mother wills it so:
Nations may rise and fall, and tyrants go
Upon their devious, darkened paths: alone
England preserves her people and her throne,
Her ancient freedom, her perpetual flow
Of broad and brightened life; time shall not show
This mighty Nation pitiful and...
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I look upon thy happy face—
Dear child with those undarkened eyes
Like glimpses of transparent skies—
And dream of things which have no placeIn that small, golden head of thine;
Things that no ten-year-old has yet
Dared in his roguish wit to set
To thought, or word, or rhythmic line.And it is better so, I think,
... -
He sleeps at last—a hero of his race.
Dead!—and the night lies softly on his face,
While the faint summer stars, like sentinels,
Hover above his lonely resting-place.A soldier, yet less soldier than a man,
Who gave to justice what a soldier can,—
The courage of his arm, a patient heart,
And the fire-soul that flamed when wrong began.... -
The sun is sinking over hill and sea,
Its red light fires a spectral line of shore;
Night droops upon our half-world mistily
With sombre glory and ghost-haunted lore;
The stars show dim and pallid in the sky,
Vague, wraith-white glimmerings of volcanic spheres,
And a slim crescent of the moon appears
Like some young herald in the...