I

Four hundred summers and fifty have shone on the meadows of Thames and died Since Eton arose in an age that was darkness, and shone by his radiant side As a star that the spell of a wise man's word bade live and ascend and abide.

And ever as time's flow brightened, a river more dark than the storm-clothed sea, And age upon age rose fairer and larger in promise of hope set free, With England Eton her child kept pace as a fostress of men to be.

And ever as earth waxed wiser, and softer the beating of time's wide wings, Since fate fell dark on her father, most hapless and gentlest of star-crossed kings, Her praise has increased as the chant of the dawn that the choir of the noon outsings.