England

I am she that was and was not of thy chosen, Free, and not free; She that fed thy springs, till now her springs are frozen; Yet I am she. By the sea that clothed and sun that saw me splendid And fame that crowned, By the song-fires and the sword-fires mixed and blended That robed me round; By the star that Milton’s soul for Shelley’s lighted, Whose rays insphere us; By the beacon-bright Republic far-off sighted; (Cho.) O mother, hear us.