Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/1062

 WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY

To the Song on your bugles blown,

England To the stars on your bugles blown!'

They call you proud and hard,

England, my England: You with worlds to watch and ward,

England, my own!

You whose mail'd hand keeps the keys Of such teeming destinies, You could know nor dread nor ease

Were the Song on your bugles blown, England,

Round the Pit on your bugles blown'

Mother of Ships whose might,

England, my England, Is the fierce old Sea's delight,

England, my own, Chosen daughter of the Lord, Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient Sword, There 's the menace of the Word

In the Song on your bugles blown, England

Out of heaven on your bugles blown'

SIR EDMUND GOSSE

856 Revelation

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��rNTO the silver night

She brought with her pale hand The topaz lanthorn-light, And darted splendour o'er the land:

Around her in a band,

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