I turn, and meet the cruel, turbaned face. II Thou art the rock of empire, set mid-seas Watch that they spread where English blood is spilt, Now westward, look, my country bids good-night,— Peace to the world from ports without a gun! George Edward Woodberry [1855 MOTHER ENGLAND I THERE was a rover from a western shore, Then mother-Mother England!-home I came Like one who hath been all too long, away! II As nestling at thy feet in peace I lay, A thought awoke and restless stirred in me: "GOD SAVE THE KING" GOD save our gracious King, God save the King! Send him victorious, Happy and glorious, Long to reign over us, O Lord our God, arise, And make them fall. Confound their politics, Frustrate their knavish tricks; God save us all! Thy choicest gifts in store, To sing with heart and voice, God save the King! Henry Carey (?) [ ?-1743] RULE, BRITANNIA From "Alfred " WHEN Britain first, at Heaven's command, Arose from out the azure main, This was the charter of the land, And guardian angels sung the strain: Britons never will be slaves. The nations not so blest as thee Must, in their turns, to tyrants fall, Whilst thou shalt flourish, great and free, The dread and envy of them all. Still more majestic shalt thou rise, More dreadful from each foreign stroke; As the loud blast that tears the skies Serves but to root thy native oak. Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame; But work their woe, and thy renown. To thee belongs the rural reign; Thy cities shall with commerce shine; The Muses, still with Freedom found, Blest Isle! with matchless beauty crowned, Britons never will be slaves. James Thomson (1700-1748] "YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND" YE Mariners of England That guard our native seas! Whose flag has braved, a thousand years, Your glorious standard launch again To match another foe; And sweep through the deep, While the stormy winds do blow! While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow. The spirits of your fathers Shall start from every wave!— Britannia needs no bulwarks, No towers along the steep; Her march is o'er the mountain-waves, With thunders from her native oak She quells the floods below, As they roar on the shore, When the stormy winds do blow! The meteor flag of England Shall yet terrific burn; Till danger's troubled night depart When the storm has ceased to blow! Thomas Campbell [1777-1844] "READY, AY, READY OLD England's sons are English yet, Aflame with sword and song. As in their pride our fathers died, So wield we still, gainsay who will, The sceptre of the sea. England, stand fast; let heart and hand be steady; Be thy first word thy last,-Ready, ay, ready! We've Raleighs still for Raleigh's part, We've Nelsons yet unknown; The pulses of the Lion Heart Beat on through Wellington. Hold, Britain, hold thy creed of old, Strong foe and steadfast friend, And, still unto thy motto true, Defy not, but defend. England, stand fast; let heart and hand be steady; Be thy first word thy last,-Ready, ay, ready! |