YOUNG ENGLAND–what is then become of Old
Of dear Old England? Think they she is dead,
Dead to the very name? Presumption fed
On empty air! That name will keep its hold
In the true filial bosom’s inmost fold
For ever.–The Spirit of Alfred, at the head
Of all who for her rights watched, toiled and bled,
Knows that this prophecy is not too bold.
What–how! shall she submit in will and deed
To Beardless Boys–an imitative race,
The ‘servum pecus’ of a Gallic breed?
Dear Mother! if thou ‘must’ thy steps retrace,
Go where at least meek Innocency dwells;
Let Babes and Sucklings be thy oracles.

—————

The End

And that’s the End of the Poem

© Poetry Monster, 2021.

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Some external links: The Bat’s Poetry Cave. — Fledermaus’s poetry site. Talking Writing Monster. — the irreverent and irrelevant chatter on subjects both serious and not quite. A free for all board. You can scribble anything on it without registration (but it doesn’t let spammers in). You can even post your poems. Qwant.com. — a search engine from France. It’s an alternative because there are a few alternatives, like Bing, Duckduckgo, and Ecosia. And there is Yandex, the ultimate language-oriented search engine for the Russophone world. Commercial Links: Russian Commerce – the foreign trade assistance agency Other links: Poems and poetry in Russian (if you are reading this in English, as you obviously are, then you’d have to switch the language, the language switch is on the menu. More on languages)