O may no foemen ever come, to threat your homes with flames! But should they come we'll show them soon what hearts are by the Thames. Flow on in glory, still flow on, O Thames, unto the sea, Through glories gone, through grandeurs here, through greatness still to be: Through the free homes of England flow, and may yet higher fames, Still nobler glories star your course, O my own native Thames? A LAMENT. O WHO will be a husband to me! Soon my babe will be born and I'm all forlorn, Ah, war is a trade by which widows are made, Alone-alone, I must make my moan; O born to shame-to no father's name, Only my love and its God's above Will smile on my child of shame. God send the day for which I so pray When my child in his father's arms I shall lay! O were he but here, my soldier dear! O God! to see that day! GOD BLESS THE DEAR OLD LAND! A SONG FOR AUSTRALIA. A THOUSAND leagues below the line, 'neath southern stars and skies, 'Mid alien seas, the land that's ours, our own new England lies; From North to South, six thousand miles heave white with ocean foam Between the old dear land we've left and this our newfound home; Yet what though oceans stretch between, though here this hour we stand! Our hearts, thank God! are English still; God bless the dear old land! "To England!" men, a bumper brim; up, brothers, glass in hand! "England!" I give you, "England!" boys; "God bless the dear old land!" To some we see around us here, it may be, she was stern; It may be, in her far-off fields they scarce their bread could earn; But though we thought our mother hard, we know now she was wise To drive us out to this new land that every need supplies; We left her side with heavy hearts; we hardly thought that then We left her, soon with honest work to make us happy men; Then to her name a bumper brim; up, brothers, glass in hand! "Our mother land!" here's "England," boys! "God bless the dear old land!" And what though far she's sent us from her side! we love her yet; Her love we think of more and more; her coldness we forget; 124 GOD BLESS THE DEAR OLD LAND. As northwards faint her dim cliffs died, how clung our eyes to her; Each league that thrust us farther off, the more her sons we were; And now our new land's dear to us, dear as it is, we own "Our native land!" here's "England!" boys; "God bless the dear old land!" It may be she would call us back, back to her side again, And bid us bring the wealth to her we've won beyond the main; Sweet it would be her fields to see ; but, dear to me and you, Although the far old home may be, dear too we'll make the new; True to the land we're treading, boys, that's now our own we'll be, Howe'er our hearts may yearn to her, our mother o'er the sea; We've love for both; we're proud of both; but up, men, glass in hand! Here's "England—she that gave us birth! God bless the dear old land!" O what a greatness she makes ours! her past is all our own, And such a past as she can boast, and, brothers, she alone; Her mighty ones the night of time triumphant shining through, Of them our sons shall proudly say, "They were our fathers too;" For us her living glory shines that has through ages shone ; Let's match it with a kindred blaze, through ages to live on; Thank God! her great free tongue is ours; up, brothers, glass in hand! Here's "England, freedom's boast and ours! God bless the dear old land!" For us, from priests and kings she won rights of such priceless worth As make the races from her sprung the freemen of the earth; Free faith, free thought, free speech, free laws, she won through bitter strife, That we might breathe unfetter'd air and live unshackled life; Her freedom, boys, thank God! is ours, and little need she fear, That we'll allow a right she's given to die or wither here; Free-born, to her who made us free, up, brothers, glass in hand! "Hope of the free," here's "England!" boys; "God bless the dear old land!" They say that dangers cloud her way, that despots lour and threat; What matters that? her mighty arm can smite and conquer yet; Let Europe's tyrants all combine, she'll meet them with a smile; Hers are Trafalgar's broadsides still, the hearts that won the Nile; We are but young; we're growing fast; but with what loving pride, In danger's hour, to front the storm, we'll range us at her side; We'll pay the debt we owe her then; up, brothers, glass in hand! "May God confound her enemies! God bless the dear old land !" JUANNA. “WHAT is it ails me, mother? Now tell me, tell me, pray, Why I'm dreaming all the night long And I'm musing all the day? I never laugh as once I did; And still I must be question'd twice "What your dreams are of, Juanna, And where your thoughts are, you must say, Tell me this, and then I'll tell you Why you dream and muse and sigh." "O my dreams are still of Juan, Of him, by night and day, And my thoughts are always with him, I want him always by me; Will it be always so? Day and night, no thought but Juan Shall I for ever know?" "Ah, I felt like you, Juanna, When I too was fifteen, And well I know, my daughter, What your dreams and musings mean; But, better than your mother, Your heart to you can tell What ails you so, and if again "I've ask'd my heart, my mother, And always its reply Is to ache when Juan's absent, And to flutter when he's by. But Juan says, but wed him, I shall be changed he's sure; Now, mother, do you think so? Will that surely work my cure?" |