English poem
Ii
by Archibald Allan Bowman (1883–1936)
I heard it in the strife of other days; It reached me in my home across the sea, That the great soul that made my England free, And now must make her perfect, idly plays With the tremendous issue; that they raise Sedition’s banner with impunity, And legislators, hot with laboured plea, Pile law on law, while Law herself decays. It is the everlasting cloud that dwells Upon the summit, compassed in one word, Disruption, whose deep thunder as it swells Unnerves us, and arrests the falling sword, Even to this hour, when but to differ spells Lese-majesty, and loyalty means accord.
HESEPE, 25th June