| |
| THE WHELP that nipped its mother’s dug in turning from her breast, | |
| And smacked its lusty lips and built its own lair in the West, | |
| Has stretched its limbs and looked about and roared across the sea: | |
| “Oh, mother, I did bite thee hard, but still thou lovest me!” | |
| |
| She lifts her head and listens, as waking from a dream, | 5 |
| Her great jaw set, her claws outspread, her lion eyes agleam; | |
| The voice is deep as thunder on the far horizon rim, | |
| And up the mother spoke and said: “It can be none but him!” | |
| |
| Cried England to America: “My ancient love abides, | |
| And the old Trafalgar courage still upon the ocean rides.” | 10 |
| America to England spake: “The God of Liberty | |
| Goes with us marching up the land and sailing down the sea.” | |
| |
| And the twain are joined for hunting,—let all the packs beware, | |
| The tiger’s kith, the panther’s kin, the race-hordes of the bear. | |
| They two step forth together, God’s hand has struck the hour, | 15 |
| All pathways lead to freedom, each foot-step broadens power. | |
| |
| The world is still in dull amaze, agape and dazed to hear; | |
| There is a rustling of the thrones, uneasy far and near, | |
| King leaning unto king, and on Oppression’s hateful lips | |
| A pallor as the wind brings in the booming of the ships. | 20 |
| |
| And who shall cower, who recoil, or choose the craven’s tack, | |
| And strain the law (by heroes made) to hold his country back? | |
| Ah, who? Let children lisp his shame and women cry him down | |
| What time our glorious banner waves o’er stormëd tower and town. | |
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| The star is up, the star of splendor, never to set or wane; | 25 |
| The flag leads on, the flag of glory, never to turn again; | |
| And where it goes we cheer and follow, no man of us will fail; | |
| We all are where our armies camp and where our navies sail. | |
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| World-conquering mother, hard we bit in parting from thy breast; | |
| Yet still we smack our lusty lips and love thy milk the best; | 30 |
| For the blood our mother gave us is the true imperial strain; | |
| She bore one cub, one only, but it wears the lion’s mane! | |
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