I turn me to the chamber's Heart,
Low pulsing like a vague desire,
And strike an ebon block apart,
Till up there springs a Tongue of Fire!
It hath a jovial roaring tone,
Like one rebuking half in jest--
Yet ah! I wish there could be shewn
The wisdom that it hath exprest--
Or sinking to a lambent glow,
Its arched and silent cavern seems
A magic glass whereon to shew,
And shape anew, our broken dreams!
I vow the Fiery Tongue hath caught
Quaint echoes of the passing time;
Thus laughs it at my idle thought,
My longing for a fairer clime:
'So--so you'd like some southern shore,
To gather flowers the winter through,
As if there were on earth no more
For busy human hands to do!
* * * * *
'And guard your Own!--In this, oh mark
High duty and the world's far fate;
Thou art poor deluged Europe's Ark,
Her fortunes on Thy Safety wait;
And--couching lion at her feet--
In all her matron graces drest,
Let free Britannia smiling greet
Her radiant Daughter of the West!
'The broad Atlantic flows between,
But love can bridge the ends of earth;
Of all the lands my race have seen,
These two the rest are more than worth;
Not for their skies, or fruits, or gold,
But for their sturdy growth of Man,
Who walks erect, and will not hold
His life beneath a tyrant's ban.
Pages:
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91