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Full Chorus.-Our glory is our freedom,
We lord it o'er the sea;

We are the sons of freedom,
We are free.

There is no land like England,
Where'er the light of day be;
There are no wives like English wives,
So fair and chaste as they be.
There is no land like England,
Where'er the light of day be;
There are no maids like English maids,
So beautiful as they be.

Chorus. For the French, etc.





YEAR after year unto her feet,

The while she slumbereth alone,
Over the purpled coverlet

The maiden's jet-black hair hath grown,
On either side her trancèd form

Forthstreaming from a braid of pearl; The slumbrous light is rich and warm, And moves not on the rounded curl.


The silk star-braided coverlid

Unto her limbs itself doth mould
Languidly ever, and amid

Her full black ringlets downward rolled,
Glows forth each softly-shadowed arm,
With bracelets of the diamond bright;
Her constant beauty doth inform

Stillness with love and day with light.


She sleeps; her breathings are not heard
In palace chambers far apart;

The fragrant tresses are not stirred
That lie upon her charmèd heart.


She sleeps; on either side upswells
The gold-fringed pillow lightly prest;
She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells
A perfect form in perfect rest.



Two bees within a chrystal flowerbell rocked
Hum a lovelay to the westwind at noontide.
Both alike, they buzz together,

Both alike, they hum together

Through and through the flowered heather.
Where in a creeping cove the wave unshockèd
Lays itself calm and wide,

Over a stream two birds of glancing feather
Do woo each other, carolling together.
Both alike, they glide together.

Side by side;

Both alike, they sing together,

Arching blue-glossèd necks beneath the purple weather.

Two children lovelier than Love adown the lea are singing, As they gambol, lilygarlands ever stringing:

Both in blosmwhite silk are frockèd :

Like, unlike, they roam together

Under a summervault of golden weather;
Like, unlike, they sing together
Side by side,

Mid May's darling goldenlockèd,
Summer's tanling diamondeyed.




THE winds, as at their hour of birth,
Leaning upon the ridged sea,
Breathed low around the rolling earth
With mellow preludes, "We are free."
The streams through many a lilied row
Down-carolling to the crispèd sea,
Low-tinkled with a bell-like flow
Atween the blossoms, "We are free."



SLOW sailed the weary mariners, and saw,
Between the green brink and the running foam,
White limbs unrobèd in a chrystal air,

Sweet faces, rounded arms, and bosoms prest
To little harps of gold: and while they mused,
Whispering to each other half in fear,

Shrill music reached them on the middle sea.


Whither away, whither away, whither away? Fly no more: Whither away wi' the singing sail? whither away wi' the oar? Whither away from the high green field and the happy blossoming shore?

Weary mariners, hither away,

One and all, one and all,

Weary mariners come and play ;

We will sing to you all the day;

Furl the sail and the foam will fall

From the prow! One and all
Furl the sail! drop the oar!
Leap ashore !

Know danger and trouble and toil no more.
Whither away wi' the sail and the oar?

Drop the oar,
Leap ashore,
Fly no more!

Whither away wi' the sail? whither away wi' the oar?

Day and night to the billow the fountain calls:
Down shower the gambolling waterfalls

From wandering over the lea;

They freshen the silvery-crimson shells,

And thick with white bells the clover-hill swells
High over the full-toned sea.

Merrily carol the revelling gales

Over the islands free:

From the green sea-banks the rose down-trails
To the happy brimmed sea.

Come hither, come hither, and be our lords,
For merry brides are we:

We will kiss sweet kisses, and speak sweet words:


Oh listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten
With pleasure and love and revelry;
Oh listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten,
When the sharp clear twang of the golden chords
Runs up the ridgèd sea.

Ye will not find so happy a shore,
Weary mariners! all the world o'er ;
Oh! fly no more!

Harken ye, harken ye, sorrow shall darken ye,
Danger and trouble and toil no more;
Whither away?

Drop the oar;

Hither away,

Leap ashore ;

Oh fly no more no more.

Whither away, whither away, whither away with the sail and the oar?




My hope and heart is with thee-thou wilt be
A latter Luther, and a soldier-priest

To scare church-harpies from the master's feast;
Our dusted velvets have much need of thee:
Thou art no sabbath-drawler of old saws,
Distill'd from some worm-canker'd homily;
But spurr'd at heart with fieriest energy
To embattail and to wall about thy cause
With iron-worded proof, hating to hark
The humming of the drowsy pulpit-drone
Half God's good sabbath, while the worn-out clerk
Brow-beats his desk below. Thou from a throne
Mounted in heaven wilt shoot into the dark
Arrows of lightnings. I will stand and mark.



οἱ ῥέοντες


ALL thoughts, all creeds, all dreams are true,

All visions wild and strange;

Man is the measure of all truth

Unto himself. All truth is change:

All men do walk in sleep, and all
Have faith in that they dream :
For all things are as they seem to all,
And all things flow like a stream.


There is no rest, no calm, no pause,
Nor good nor ill, nor light nor shade,
Nor essence nor eternal laws :

For nothing is but all is made.
But if I dream that all these are,
They are to me for that I dream ;
For all things are as they seem to all,
And all things flow like a stream.

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