Classic Poem

I

Like some good ship that founders in the sea,
Like granite towers that crumble into dust,
So pass the emblems of thine empery.
But O immortal Mother and august,
Ardours of English saint and bard and king
Blend simply with thy soul, even as their bones
Mingle with English soil. Their spirits sing
A great song lordly as is a loud wind's tones.
Decayed by gold and ease and loathly pride,
We had forgot our greatness and become
Huckstering empire-builders, and denied
The excellent name of freedom...till the drum
Woke glory such as met the eyes of Drake,
Or Alfred when he saw the heathen break!

II

Where shall we find thee? In the avarice
That robs our brave adventures? In the shame
Spoiling our splendours? In the sacrifice
Of tears we wrung from Ireland? Nay, thy name
Is written secretly in kindliness
Upon the patient faces of the poor,
In that good anger wherewith thou didst bless
Our hearts, when beat upon the shaking door
Strong hands of hell.... Whether before the flood
We sink, or out of agonies reborn
Learn once again the meaning of our blood,
Laughter and liberty — a sacred scorn
Is ours irrevocably since we stood
And heard the barbarians' guns across the morn.