XIII.

Unconquered yeomen, England’s strength and pride! Who ne’er have yet been wanting at her call Against the world to stand, or dashing ride ’Gainst odds that all but Britons would appal! For where, brave hearts, doth rise your serried wall Of adamant, in vain the thunder-scar. Upon that conquering ground ye stand or fall. Oh, strenuous arms alike for toil and war, May ne’er be seen the day when Wrong your might shall mar!