Select Poetry.

New Zealander, Volume 10, Issue 887, 14 October 1854, Page 3

Select Poetry.

• OLD ENGLAND. [by GERAI-B massev ] There she sits in her island iiome. Peerless among her peers. And humanity, oft to her arms doth come. To ease its poor heart of tears. Old England still throbs with the muffled grc Of a past she can never forget; And .again shall she banner the world up higher, For there's life in the Old Land yet. They would mock at her now, who of old looked forth In their fear as they heard her afar; But loud will your wail be, O Kings of the Earth 1 ■ When the Old Land goes down to the war. The avalanche trembles, half-launched and hal&riven, Her voice will in motion set: 0 ring out the tidings, ye winds of Heaven! There’s life in tho Uhl Land yet. The old nursing mother's not hoajy yet; There is sap in her Saxon tree ; Lo ! she lifted! a bosom of glory yet,Through her mis s. to the sun and the sea-. Fair as the Queen of Love, fresh from she foam. Or a star in a dark cloud set. Ye may blazon her shame —ye may leap at her fame ; But there’s life in the Old Land yet. Let the storm burst, it will find the Old Land Ready ripe for a rough red fray I She will tight as sire, fought when she took her stand For the right in the olden day. Ay, rouse tin old royal soul, Europe s best hope Is her sword-edge by Victory sec I She shall dash Freed .in’s fix-8 ailown Death's awful slope; l-’nc there’s life lo the tint Land yet.