Iii

Tears for her--tears! Tears and the mighty rites Of an everlasting and immense farewell, ENGLAND, green heart of the world, and you, Dear demi-ENGLANDS, far-away isles of home, Where the old speech is native, and the old flag Floats, and the old irresistible call, The watch-word of so many ages of years, Makes men in love With toil for the race, and pain, and peril, and death! Tears, and the dread, tremendous dirge Of her brooding battleships, and hosts Processional, with trailing arms; the plaint-- Measured, enormous, terrible--of her guns; The slow, heart-breaking throb Of bells; the trouble of drums; the blare Of mourning trumpets; the discomforting pomp Of silent crowds, black streets, and banners-royal Obsequious! Then, these high things done, Rise, heartened of your passion! Rise to the height Of her so lofty life! Kneel, if you must; But, kneeling, win to those great altitudes On which she sought and did Her clear, supernal errand unperturbed! Let the new memory Be as the old, long love! So, when the hour Strikes, as it must, for valour of heart, Virtue, and patience, and unblenching hope, And the inflexible resolve That, come the World in arms, This breeder of nations, ENGLAND, keeping the seas Hers as from GOD, shall in the sight of GOD Stand justified of herself Wherever her unretreating bugles blow! Remember that she lived That this magnificent Power might still perdure-- Your friend, your passionate servant, counsellor, Queen.