Lyra Historica: Poems of British History, A.D. 61-1910, Teil 2

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Clarendon Press, 1911
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Seite 38 - Her own shall bless her: Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn, And hang their heads with sorrow. Good grows with her; In her days every man shall eat in safety Under his own vine what he plants, and sing The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours.
Seite 18 - Be copy now to men of grosser blood, And teach them how to war. — And you, good yeomen, Whose limbs were made in England, show us here The mettle of your pasture : let us swear That you are worth your breeding ; which I doubt not, For there is none of you so mean and base, That hath not noble lustre in your eyes. I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start. The game's afoot : Follow your spirit ; and upon this charge, Cry — God for Harry ! England ! and Saint George...
Seite 52 - SEA. Nobly, nobly Cape Saint Vincent to the North-West died away ; Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, reeking into Cadiz Bay; Bluish 'mid the burning water, full in face Trafalgar lay ; In the dimmest North-East distance dawned Gibraltar grand and gray; " Here and here did England help me : how can I help England...
Seite 75 - HALF a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. " Forward, the Light Brigade ! " Charge for the guns ! " he said : Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.
Seite 63 - Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness ; And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne'er might be repeated...
Seite 18 - CROMWELL, our chief of men, who through a cloud Not of war only, but detractions rude, Guided by faith and matchless fortitude, To peace and truth thy glorious way hast ploughed...
Seite 19 - And rouse him at the name of Crispian. He that shall live this day, and see old age, Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours, And say, " To-morrow is Saint Crispian : " Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars, And say, " These wounds I had on Crispin's day.
Seite 39 - This England never did, (nor never shall,) Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, But when it first did help to wound itself. Now these her princes are come home again, Come the three corners of the world in arms, And we shall shock them : Nought shall make us rue, If England to itself do rest but true.
Seite 64 - And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass, Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave, — alas ! Ere evening, to be trodden like the grass...
Seite 49 - Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour: England hath need of thee: she is a fen Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen, Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, Have forfeited their ancient English dower Of inward happiness. We are selfish men. Oh! raise us up, return to us again; And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.

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