Page:National Lyrics.pdf/214

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But let the ice drift on! Let the cold blue desert spread! Their course with mast and flag is done— —Ev'n there sleep England's dead!

The warlike of the Isles, The men of field and wave! Are not the rocks their funeral piles? The seas and shores their grave?

Go, Stranger! track the deep! Free, free the white sail spread! Wave may not foam, nor wild wind sweep, Where rest not England's dead!*