The White Cliffs by Alice Duer Miller

-"So, Susan, my dear," the letter began, "You've fallen in love with an Englishman. Well, they're a manly, attractive lot, If you happen to like them, which I do not. I am a Yankee through and through, And I don't like them, or the things they do. Whenever it's come to a knock-down fight With us, they were wrong, and we were right; If you don't believe me, cast your mind Back over history, what do you find? They certainly had no justification For that maddening plan to impose taxation Without any form of representation. Your man may be all that a man should be, Only don't you bring him back to me Saying he can't get decent tea-- He could have got his tea all right In Boston Harbor a certain night, When your great-great-grandmother--also a Sue-- Shook enough tea from her husband's shoe To supply her house for a week or two. The war of 1812 seems to me About as just as a war could be. How could we help but come to grips With a nation that stopped and searched our ships, And took off our seamen for no other reason Except that they needed crews that season. I can get angry still at the tale Of their letting the _Alabama_ sail, And Palmerston being insolent To Lincoln and Seward over the _Trent_. All very long ago, you'll say, But whenever I go up Boston-way, I drive through Concord--that neck of the wood, Where once the embattled farmers stood, And I think of Revere, and the Old North Steeple, And I say, by heck, we're the only people Who licked them not only once, but twice. Never forget it--that's my advice. They have their points--they're honest and brave, Loyal and sure--as sure as the grave; They make other nations seem pale and flighty, But they do think England is God almighty, And you must remind them now and then That other countries breed other men. From all of which you will think me rather Unjust. I am. Your devoted Father.