Classic Poem

Thou latest bloom of liberty-loving states,
Peerless, new-found, thou vast imperial flower,
Thou dream of patriots, golden possibility,
As yet untried, unweighed in fortune's balance,
The hope of few, the wonder of the many,
Thou splendid pinnacle of human days,
Whereby earth's aliens linked in speech and blood
And heart allegiance to one flag, one throne,

One common dream of liberty and rule,
Do come together, one imperial whole,
In world-wide common amity of blood,
And equal vision, nursing one high resolve
Not to be crushed by this ignoble day,
Where many voices jargon many tongues,
And hatreds foiled, and superstitions dire,
Cloaked in poor freedom's many-chequered garb,
Do crouch and snarl and wait to strike thee down.

In this auspicious, high imperial June,
This month of summer yearning to his tide,
And all divine emotions of the year,
'Tis meet that in that centre of world-force,
That arbiter of destinies obscure,
Where all the glowing, blossoming Junes do meet,
Of world-ambitions, on whose golden reefs
Do break the mighty beatings of the world,
That there from whence her myriad sons went out,
To build, to fight, to conquer or repel,
Back to her strength her conquering sons return.

From all those lands of alien summers and suns,
Of winters and despairings nobly met,
Her hosts of children now return once more,
Her wide imperial hosts, with symbols dear,
Of silvern links of blood and golden speech,
To crown her empire when she crowns her king.
Not mine to praise where many falsely laud,
And in high-sounding numbers ape the strain
Of some divine Apollo; rather my task
Of admonition to those, loyal, who read
Impending danger yet are wisely strong;
Who in the sunlight know the black'ning storm,
And build the safety 'gainst the coming ill.

Yea, would I rather raise prophetic voice,
Amid this majesty and high acclaim,
This vast supreme laudation of a world,
To warn this greatness 'gainst her possible doom,
Lest tranced in dreams of far, earth-circling rule,
Her very vastness, wide, imperial power,
Do house a frailty that may thrust her down,
Crushed in ruin wide by her immense
Titan-like shoulders, whereon heavy, outspread,
God-like Responsibility ever broods,
Pondering on the miseries of this world.

Iron-welded, O my people, Saxon, Celt,
Victorious Northmen, strenuous, masterful,
Not to be strangled in time's ocean flood,
Sucked down in vortex of old ruin dire,
But to remain, contend, depose and rule,
Till earth's white morn outflames her latest night,
And freedom breaks in gold about the world.

This thine old spirit, mighty, undismayed,
High, self-sustaining, individual, free,
Protesting ever, fronting creeds of dark,
Denouncing ever the old despotic lie,
Rending the veils of doubt 'twixt God and man,
Reading the morning in the ancient stars,
And the mind's vastness in the spirit's wars.

From London's smoke of commerce blackening down,
Her mighty abbeys and her centuried town,
Her million toilers and her master minds,
Her fleets of commerce swept to every wind,
Whence went her myriads who in shores remote
Rebuilt her greatness, echoed her vast heart,
World-throbbing in its grim immensity,

To mighty vasts of lone Australian wilds
And bleak Canadian woods, the cradles grim
Of Saxon iron and of Celtic gold;
Out round the world where'er blue ocean breaks,
'Mid temperate climes or fevered tropic lands,
Or Arctic wastes, her strong, indomitable sons
Do crush defeat and make this earth their own,
Determining all, moulding the world's best dream
Of strife and life and liberty of man.

From where soft-lipped, blue Mediterranean laves
In summer ripples Mediterranean strands,
To where iron-bound, fog-mantled Labrador
Juts out to lonely, lost Atlantean glooms,
The iron glove of empire, tempered, firm,
Doth hold in grasp the welfare of the world.
Quebec, Gibraltar, herculean gates,
Grim portals each of old and new world power,
Anchors of that vastness of her dream,
Reaching round the wide-ribbed, shouldered earth,
The shining ocean and the desert's span,
A power peace-yearning, glad, beneficent,
This younger Rome of this imperial day,
Beaconing liberty, conquering to redeem.

This her sole dream, look that she lose it not,
As tranced in toil, heavily-wheeled, she turns
Like some vast planet on its cloudward wing,
Callous of danger, strong in high resolve,
Half conscious of her might, fulfilling good,
Unto the conquering ultimate of her end.
Yea, not to praise, but rather to arraign,
Lest she in folly let her dream lie down,
And all her ancient, mighty power depart,
And all her majesty of light become
A ruined furnace from whose smouldering gleam

The younger nations haply steal a spark
To light their lesser, late decadent fires
Of national ardors: lest in her too credulous,
O'ermastering love of human liberty,
She let the evil in in guise of good,
The tyrant 'neath her freedom nurse his power
And suckle the serpent at her loyalty's breasts,
That ancient enemy of all her days,
To use her liberty to strike her down;

Lest she, forgetting how the fathers fought
And strove and lived and died for her great cause,
And in her dream of madness compromise
Her truth, her light, for fancied rule and power,
Where no power lies, no loyalty, but a cloak,
False and cunning, covering subtlest dream
To rise and rend her doth a danger come;

Lest she in all this greatness on her laid,
This earth-wide, vast, imperial mantle, stained
With blood of those who loved her, gave her all,
Not recking save that they did love her, died
That she might live, and spread that mantle vast
To outmost rim of despot-burdened earth:
Lest she 'mid all this pageant, glad, forget
Her one high dream: her steadfast sons forget,
On whom alone, in that inevitable hour,
Which comes alike to nations and to men,
True Britons, loyal, she may place her trust.

This my note in this imperial hour,
This high, auspicious, world-compelling day;
When cohorts from earth's alien peoples meet,
And East greets West in challenge, high, of power,
And all the world-wide splendor gathered far,
In tribute meet to earth's imperial king.

Yea, this my note, remembering empire's bounds
Not larger than the loyalty that upholds;
Not wider than the speech that makes us one;
Not greater than the pride of olden dreams,
Of common blood, of common faith and song.

For vain the splendor and the freedom vast,
And vain the iron power that makes it sure,
And vain the mighty toil that would endure
If love be not the anchor that withstands.

For earth is worn of conquest-sanguined states,
And bloody wars for base, material ends,
Of blatant voices calling unto strife:
Only the calm and patient will remain,
Only the noble effort will endure.

And he, Imperial Edward, august son
Of her who, gracious, noble, held so long
Her people's fealty: he who stands for all
This vast, earth-circling rule, beneficent,
This power that makes for freedom round the world,
Whose rule is one with those wise, ancient laws
Of mighty Alfred; that rare golden speech
Of Shakespeare made immortal, liberty
Love's of Scot and Saxon where'er wide
Love's golden bonds of kinship gird the world:—
Yea, he, our august monarch, may his rule
Be splendid, fruitful, may his days be spared
To golden out to mellowed olden age
To rule us happy, with his noble Queen.

And we, true steadfast Britons, severed wide,
Where ever Orient skies, hyperion star
Shine on the mighty pulsings of the world,
Keep we the loyalty to our speech and blood,
Brother with brother, kindred peoples set
About the base of one imperial throne.