22.04.2012, 07:39
The Call
Because Her sons waxed loud in wantonness
And cursed their mates in mood of angry will,
Nor hearkened when She bade the brawl be still,
Did ye then deem that in Her sore distress
They too would throng with glee amid the press
That strove amain the lovely life to kill
At whose dear breasts their life had ta'en its fill,
Whose hands had flung them freedom for largesse?
Fools, knowing nought of Britain and Her breed!
The war-cry thrills through all Her coasts and seas,
And straight Her rebels start from mimic strife
To face the foe whose hate is hate indeed,
And clasp true hands, and fall on militant knees
To guard their Mother with their very life.
Because Her sons waxed loud in wantonness
And cursed their mates in mood of angry will,
Nor hearkened when She bade the brawl be still,
Did ye then deem that in Her sore distress
They too would throng with glee amid the press
That strove amain the lovely life to kill
At whose dear breasts their life had ta'en its fill,
Whose hands had flung them freedom for largesse?
Fools, knowing nought of Britain and Her breed!
The war-cry thrills through all Her coasts and seas,
And straight Her rebels start from mimic strife
To face the foe whose hate is hate indeed,
And clasp true hands, and fall on militant knees
To guard their Mother with their very life.