A SONG FOR BRITAIN.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVI, Issue 2116, 15 February 1908, Page 1 (Supplement)

A SONG FOR BRITAIN.

Dulled is tflie tramp of the long-bur-ied legions, The oars of the galleys are hushed 011 the sea. But Rome with her realm of earth’s uttermost regions Has handed her mantle, O Britain, to thee! 'Thou hast taken it, cleansed of tho passion of 'slaughter, The lust of the eagles, the toil of tho slave, And glides every year a new keel to the water, A clasp on your purple—a claim on your brave! Tho cohorts have ceased from their spetir-splashing chorus, And peace holds the sceptre and Love’s at her shrine. But higlr on the Capitol gleaming before us The shields of the War Gods are sot for a sign. There is mail on our foemon—then why should we tarry? There are spears at our ramparts—then why should wo stay? Ere long may be blood for our Tiber to carry Or triumph make dust for our Appihn Way! Rome faltered ; the scorn of the War Gods was spoken, The warrior stooped to liis indolent ease, The purple was trampled, the ingles were broken, The galleys lay rotted and wrecked on the seas. The maid and the wine-cup—-strength’s bitterest foemon— Took couch at the banquet, field court in tho homo; Shall Britain, proud heir to the pride of tho Roman, Go down in tho gilded dishonor of Rome? —AV. H. Ogilvic, in “Britannia.”