Page:An appeal to England against the execution of the condemned Fenians - Swinburne (1867).djvu/14

 Nay, thy name from of old, Mother, was pure, or we dreamed; Purer we held thee than this, Purer fain would we hold; So goodly a glory it seemed, A fame so bounteous of bliss, So more precious than gold,

A praise so sweet in our ears, That thou in the tempest of things As a rock for a refuge should'st stand, In the blood-red river of tears Poured forth for the triumph of kings; A safeguard, a sheltering land, In the thunder and torrent of years.