TO ENGLAND.

There was a time when all thy sons were proud

To speak thy name,

England, when Europe echoed back aloud

Thy fearless fame:

When Spain reeled shattered helpless from thy guns

And splendid ire,

When from Canadian snows to Indian suns

Pitt's soul was fire.

O that in days like these were, fair and free

From shame and scorn,

Fate had allowed, benignly, pityingly

That I was born!

O that, if struck, then struck with glorious wounds,

I bore apart

( Not torn with fangs of leprous coward hounds )

My bleeding heart!