Scorning the fetter, fearless and free,
Winning by valor, or foiling by wit,
Dear to our Saxon folk ever is he,

This merry old rogue with the Saxon grit.

And Kett the tanner whipped out his knife,
And Watt the smith his hammer brought down,
For ruth of the maid he loved better than life,
And by breaking a head, made a hole in the Crown
From the Saxon heart rose a mighty roar,

"Our life shall not be by the King's permit; We will fight for the right, we want no more;" Then the Norman found out the Saxon grit.

For slow and sure as the oaks had grown

From acorns falling that autumn day,
So the Saxon manhood in thorpe and town
To a nobler stature grew alway;
Winning by inches, holding by clinches,
Standing by law and the human right,
Many times failing, never once quailing,
So the new day came out of the night.

Then rising afar in the Western sea,

A new world stood in the morn of the day, Ready to welcome the brave and free,

Who would wrench out the heart and march away From the narrow, contracted, dear old land,

Where the poor are held by a cruel bit,

To ampler spaces for heart and hand

And here was a chance for the Saxon grit.

Steadily steering, eagerly peering,

Trusting in God your fathers came, Pilgrims and strangers, fronting all dangers, Cool-headed Saxons, with hearts aflame. Bound by the letter, but free from the fetter, And hiding their freedom in Holy Writ, They gave Deuteronomy hints in economy, And made a new Moses of Saxon grit.

They whittled and waded through forest and fen,
Fearless as ever of what might befall;
Pouring out life for the nurture of men,

In faith that by manhood the world wins all.
Inventing baked beans and no end of machines;
Great with the rifle and great with the axe-
Sending their notions over the oceans,

1

To fill empty stomachs and straighten bent backs.

Swift to take chances that end in the dollar,

Yet open of hand when the dollar is made,
Maintaining the meetin', exalting the scholar,
But a little too anxious about a good trade;
This is young Jonathan, son of old John,
Positive, peaceable, firm in the right,
Saxon men all of us, may we be one,

Steady for freedom, and strong in her might.

Then, slow and sure, as the oaks have grown
From the acorns that fell on that autumn day,
So this new manhood in city and town,
To a nobler stature will grow alway;
Winning by inches, holding by clinches,

Slow to contention, and slower to quit,
Now and then failing, never once quailing,
Let us thank God for the Saxon grit.

Robert Collyer [1823-1912]

AT GIBRALTAR

I

ENGLAND, I stand on thy imperial ground,

Not all a stranger; as thy bugles blow,

I feel within my blood old battles flow,

The blood whose ancient founts in thee are found. Still surging dark against the Christian bound

While Islam presses; well its peoples know Thy heights that watch them wandering below; I think how Lucknow heard their gathering sound.

I turn, and meet the cruel, turbaned face.
England! 'tis sweet to be so much thy son!
I feel the conqueror in my blood and race;
Last night Trafalgar awed me, and to-day
Gibraltar wakened; hark, thy evening gun
Startles the desert over Africa!

George Edward Woodberry [1855

GIBRALTAR

SEVEN weeks of sea, and twice seven days of storm
Upon the huge Atlantic, and once more
We ride into still water and the calm

Of a sweet evening screened by either shore
Of Spain and Barbary. Our toils are o'er,
Our exile is accomplished. Once again
We look on Europe, mistress as of yore
Of the fair earth and of the hearts of men.
Ay, this is the famed rock, which Hercules
And Goth and Moor bequeathed us. At this door
England stands sentry. God! to hear the shrill
Sweet treble of her fifes upon the breeze
And at the summons of the rock gun's roar

To see her red coats marching from the hill.

Wilfrid Scawen Blunt [1840–

MOTHER ENGLAND

I

THERE was a rover from a western shore,
England! whose eyes the sudden tears did drown,
Beholding the white cliff and sunny down
Of thy good realm, beyond the sea's uproar.
I, for a moment, dreamed that, long before,
I had beheld them thus, when, with the frown
Of sovereignty, the victor's palm and crown
Thou from the tilting-field of nations bore.
Thy prowess and thy glory dazzled first;
But when in fields I saw the tender flame
Of primroses, and full-fleeced lambs at play,
Meseemed I at thy breast, like these, was nursed;

Then mother-Mother England!-home I came Like one who hath been all too long away!

II

As nestling at thy feet in peace I lay,

A thought awoke and restless stirred in me:
"My land and congeners are beyond the sea,
Theirs is the morning and the evening day.
Wilt thou give ear while this of them I say:—
'Haughty art thou, and they are bold and free,
As well befits who have descent from thee,
And who have trodden brave the forlorn way.
Children of thine, but grown to strong estate;
Nor scorn from thee would they be slow to pay,
Nor check from thee submissly would they bear;
Yet, Mother England! yet their hearts are great,
And if for thee should dawn some darkest day,
At cry of thine, how proudly would they dare!""
Edith M. Thomas [1854-

"GOD SAVE THE KING"

GOD save our gracious King,
Long live our noble King,

God save the King!

Send him victorious,
Happy and glorious,

Long to reign over us,
God save the King!

O Lord our God, arise,
Scatter his enemies,

And make them fall.

Confound their politics,
Frustrate their knavish tricks;
On Thee our hearts we fix,

God save us all!

Thy choicest gifts in store,
On him be pleased to pour,
Long may he reign.
May he defend our laws,
And ever give us cause,

To sing with heart and voice,

God save the King!

Henry Carey (?) [ ? +743]

RULE, BRITANNIA

From "Alfred "

WHEN Britain first, at Heaven's command,

Arose from out the azure main,

This was the charter of the land,

And guardian angels sung the strain:
Rule, Britannia, rule the waves,

Britons never will be slaves.

The nations not so blest as thee

Must, in their turns, to tyrants fall, Whilst thou shalt flourish, great and free, The dread and envy of them all.

Still more majestic shalt thou rise,

More dreadful from each foreign stroke; As the loud blast that tears the skies Serves but to root thy native oak.

Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame;
All their attempts to bend thee de wn
Will but arouse thy generous flame,

But work their woe, and thy renown.

To thee belongs the rural reign;

Thy cities shall with commerce shine;
All thine shall be the subject main,
And every shore it circles, thine.