Idylls of the King by Alfred Tennyson — Read

O loyal to the royal in thyself, / And loyal to thy land, as this to thee- / Bear witness, that rememberable day, / When, pale as yet, and fever-worn, the Prince / Who scarce had plucked his flickering life again / From halfway down the shadow of the grave, / Past with thee through thy people and their love, / And London rolled one tide of joy through all / Her trebled millions, and loud leagues of man / And welcome! witness, too, the silent cry, / The prayer of many a race and creed, and clime- / Thunderless lightnings striking under sea / From sunset and sunrise of all thy realm, / And that true North, whereof we lately heard / A strain to shame us "keep you to yourselves; / So loyal is too costly! friends-your love / Is but a burthen: loose the bond, and go." / Is this the tone of empire? here the faith / That made us rulers?

this, indeed, her voice / And meaning, whom the roar of Hougoumont / Left mightiest of all peoples under heaven? / What shock has fooled her since, that she should speak / So feebly? wealthier-wealthier-hour by hour! / The voice of Britain, or a sinking land, / Some third-rate isle half-lost among her seas? / There rang her voice, when the full city pealed / Thee and thy Prince! The loyal to their crown / Are loyal to their own far sons, who love / Our ocean-empire with her boundless homes / For ever-broadening England, and her throne / In our vast Orient, and one isle, one isle, / That knows not her own greatness: if she knows / And dreads it we are fallen.