Classic Poem

Thy work is palpitant with strength and blood.
Elastic vigor leaps in every line.
There fire of Elizabethan hardihood
Far-reaching and vig'rous as of yore, doth shine.
There glint of bayonet and roll of drum—
That world-encircling drum-tap of the race—
Flash on the eye and pulse-stir with their hum—
There strides the British soldier's sturdy pace.
New life dids't thou impart to British verse.
In Alexandrian doldrums did she swoon—
“In irons” to Formality's cold curse—
To her fair sails you came a breezy boon!
Long may you live to voice your peoples' will
A voice whose utterance needs not strength but skill.