soil
Till yellow corn, responsive, sunned the plains. 
When, lured by booty, Ravens from the North
Bent hitherward:  stiffly the contest tugged
Long years; till both the wearied champions joined
Their hands, as common home to share the Isle. 
With peace the land grew fat; and wholesome bonds
Of nobles to their kings, and serfs to them,
Fell slackened or distorted to misrule;
When Norman William, hard as rocks and fierce
As fire, with charge of mailed horse and showers
Of steel, won England.  Her rough sons he drilled
Grimly:  by stern command and strength of sword
He forced obedience where he fixed a law. 
For ages long against men’s stubborn minds,
With give and take, the bold Plantagenets
Kept up the drill.  At length the race, now grown
By constant wrestle into thews of power,
Moved calm with strength beneath the Tudor’s sway. 
And then a Northern Stuart wore their crown,
Whose son, unmindful he was over men
Truth-lovers, lied to them and lost his head;
For Puritans held no respect for lies. 
Next flared Charles Satyr’s saturnalia
Of Lely Nymphs, who panting sang “More gold;
We yield our beauties freely; gold, more gold.” 
Hapless explosions, folly, frenzied plots;
Till well coerced by Lowland William’s craft. 
Then plans that led to nought, or worse, enforced
By Marlborough’s cannon thundering over-seas. 
Then through the Guelphic line; our race now grows
To that great power which is to sway the world.

Down from those human shambles, wolf-belapt,
To when, in pardonably grand excess
Of pity, through our people’s will was bought
Free indolence for Isles of Western slaves: 
And now, when thousands blandly would deny
The proven murderer his rope, the thief
Due chastisement; and when a General
May blunder troops to death, yea, and receive
His Senate’s vote of thanks and all made smooth;
And when, as much from universal trust
In other states’ goodwill as from the pinch
Of blinking parsimony, we our fleets
Let rot, and regiments shrink to skeletons.—­
From those fell rights to such urbanity
The march indeed is long; tho’ kindly freaks
May sometimes clamour Justice from her throne;
Yet gentleness is still a noble gain,
And we will trust such freaks are nobly meant.

To touch the power we hold, what work has been
Of vigorous brawn, and keen contriving brains! 
Stout men with mighty battle in their limbs;
Thinkers, whose cunning struck beyond the strength
Of hosts; priests sworn to God, whose daily lives
Preached gospel purity and kindliness;
Wise chroniclers, whose patience garnered facts
For present want and food for coming time;
And dames who made their homes a paradise,
And kept their husbands great;—­have greatly given
The light and choicest substance of their lives
For generations mingling each with each,
Wave multitudinously urging wave,
Toward the one great broadening flow of things,
Then passed into the gloom that swallows all.