“Parcere subjectis, et debellare superbos.”

—Virgil, Aen. lib. vi.

Arise, Britannia! at thy sisters’ plea,

And crush the mighty foe of liberty.

Behold the hour for thee to prove thy place

As friend and guardian of the human race.

Th’ insatiate Goth, with naked, murd’rous sword,

Defies thy edict, and ignores thy word;

E’en daring, as he plays the fuming brute,

To scorn thy greatness, and thy pow’r dispute.

Thou Queen of Nations! smite into the dust

The proud invader, savage and unjust,

Whose madden’d hordes, like ancient vandals, seek

To wrong the guiltless, and despoil the weak;

Who all his boasted culture misemploys,

In art creating less than he destroys.

Imperial Mother! cast thy pitying eyes

On that sad spot where shatter’d Louvain lies,

Or on yon crumbling wall and formless mound

Where Gallia’s stately monarchs once were crown’d.

From north and east the bold barbarians pour

And dye the flowing Axona with gore.

The outrag’d Gauls, defeated and dismay’d,

Survive alone thro’ England’s potent aid.

Vainglorious Prussia, with a Teuton’s pride,

By force of arms would thrust the weak aside;

Above the sphere of lesser tribes ascend,

And martial sway o’er all the earth extend.

But thou, Britannia, art by heav’n endow’d

To spare the humble, and subdue the proud:

Thy stalwart sons have Teuton blood as true

As e’er the banks of Rhenus’ waters knew!

What race can boast a better, braver strain

Than noble Norman, Saxon, Jute, and Dane?

No native island can such pow’r confine:

The widespread world, 0 Englishman, is thine!

From Afric Cape and Island Continent,

Stout hearts of oak to face the Goth are sent;

The swarthy Rajah, skill’d in Indian wars,

Supplies his subjects to assist the cause,

And legions from Canadian shores have come

To drive the raging Prussian to his doom.

In vain the Goth his monstrous cannon loads;

In vain his mine beneath the wave explodes;

In vain his zeppelin patrols the sky,

In vain his ships upon the ocean lie;

For Gallia’s fields, encrimson’d with the slain,

Shall never in the Prussian’s hands remain!

Insensate German! blindly to oppose.

A conqu’ring race that naught but vict’ry knows.

How couldst thou dream successfully to fight,

When English, Irish, Scotch, and Welsh unite?

E’en thy brave cohorts constantly prepar’d

To strike such mighty foes should not have dar’d.

For each success gain’d early in the fray,

How great a price will Prussia have to pay!

Ere long the nations once again shall learn

On whom fair Europe’s fate must ever turn;

Before whose strength the fiercest foemen fall,

From ancient Crecy to Sebastopol;

Whose task it is, true justice to dispense,

And strike the braggart for his gross offence.

Thou right arm of Astraea! speed the hour

When peace and order shall reward thy pow’r;

When grateful lands, deliver’d from despair,

Shall bless Britannia for her kindly care;

When ev’ry king and country shall resort

To England’s judgment as the final court,

And when the mighty Empire shall become

A world itself—the deathless heir of Rome!