Chapter XCVII: England

THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH.--1836-

While men pay reverence to mighty things,
They must revere thee, thou blue-cinctured isle
Of England--not to-day, but this long while
In the front of nations, Mother of great kings,
Soldiers, and poets. Round thee the Sea flings
His steel-bright arm, and shields thee from the guile
And hurt of France. Secure, with august smile,
Thou sittest, and the East its tribute brings.
Some say thy old-time power is on the wane,
Thy moon of grandeur fill'd, contracts at length--
They see it darkening down from less to less.
Let but a hostile hand make threat again,
And they shall see thee in thy ancient strength,
Each iron sinew quivering, lioness!

* * * * *

_Such kings of shreds have woo'd and won her,
Such crafty knaves her laurel own'd,
It has become almost an honor
Not to be crown'd._

THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH.
_On Popularity._