Calm is all nature as a resting wheel. The kine are couched upon the dewy grass; The horse alone, seen dimly as I pass, Is cropping audibly his later meal: Dark is the ground; a slumber seems to steal...
Ye Mariners of England That guard our native seas, Whose flag has braved, a thousand years, The battle and the breeze, Your glorious standard launch again To match another foe!...
Yes, the weary earth shall brighten - Brighten in the perfect day, And the fields that now but whiten, Golden glow beneath the ray! Slowly swelling in her bosom, Long the precious seed has lain, -...
You ask me, why, tho' ill at ease, Within this region I subsist, Whose spirits falter in the mist, And languish for the purple seas. It is the land that freemen till, That sober-suited Freedom chose,...
You'd entertain the universe in bed, Foul woman; ennui makes you mean of soul. To exercise your jaws at this strange sport Each day you work a heart between your teeth. Your eyes, illuminated like boutiques...
The times still "grow to something strange"; We rap and turn the tables; We fire our guns at awful range; We lay Atlantic cables; We bore the hills, we bridge the seas-- To me 'tis better far...
Young England, what is then become of Old Of dear Old England? Think they she is dead, Dead to the very name? Presumption fed On empty air! That name will keep its hold In the true filial bosom's inmost fold...
You remember Ellen, our hamlet's pride, How meekly she blest her humble lot, When the stranger, William, had made her his bride, And love was the light of their lowly cot....
'Now, welcome, welcome, masters mine, Thrice welcome to the noble chase, Nor earthly sport, nor sport divine, Can take such honourable place.' - Ballad of the Wild Huntsman. (Free Translation.)