Classic Poem

Not the cannon's booming roar,
From the ancient turret hoar,
Not the pageant's glittering sight,
Flaunting in the April light,
Nor the banner on the wall
Pleased the Patriot most of all.

Not the acclamations loud
Of the pressing anxious crowd,
Not the martial music clear
Swelling grandly on the ear,
But the people's love which stole
O'er the W ARRIOR'S soften'd soul.

Prince and peasant, serf and seer,
Joy to meet the C HIEFTAIN here:
Joy to catch his glance of might,
Joy to bless the true-arm'd K NIGHT ;
All unite in one acclaim,
Heaping honours on his name.

Welcome, H ERO of the free!
Albion spreads her arms to thee:
Albion lifts her voice in prayer,
That Jehovah thee may spare,
Till Italia's wrongs shall cease,
Sitting on the throne of peace.