which the impediment well. 
     She smiles when of sapience is their boast. 
     O loose of the tug between blood run dry
     And blood running flame may our offspring run! 
     May brain democratic be king of the host! 
     Less then shall the volumes of History tell
     Of the stop in progression, the slip in relapse,
     That counts us a sand-slack inch hard won
     Beneath an oppressive incumbent perhaps.

     Let the senile lords in a parchment sky,
     And the generous turbulents drunken of morn,
     Their battle of instincts put by,
     A moment examine this field: 
     On a Roman street cast thoughtful eye,
     Along to the mounts from the bog-forest weald. 
     It merits a glance at our history’s maps,
     To see across Britain’s old shaggy unshorn,
     Through the Parties in strife internecine, foot
     The ruler’s close-reckoned direct to the mark. 
     From the head ran the vanquisher’s orderly route,
     In the stride of his forts through the tangle and dark. 
     From the head runs the paved firm way for advance,
     And we shoulder, we wrangle!  The light on us shed
     Shows dense beetle blackness in swarm, lurid Chance,
     The Goddess of gamblers, above.  From the head,
     Then when it worked for the birth of a star
     Fraternal with heaven’s in beauty and ray,
     Sprang the Acropolis.  Ask what crown
     Comes of our tides of the blood at war,
     For men to bequeath generations down! 
     And ask what thou wast when the Purse was brimmed: 
     What high-bounding ball for the Gods at play: 
     A Conservative youth! who the cream-bowl skimmed,
     Desiring affairs to be left as they are.

     So, thou takest Youth’s natural place in the fray,
     As a Tentative, combating Peace,
     Our lullaby word for decay. —
     There will come an immediate decree
     In thy mind for the opposite party’s decease,
     If he bends not an instant knee. 
     Expunge it:  extinguishing counts poor gain. 
     And accept a mild word of police:-
     Be mannerly, measured; refrain
     From the puffings of him of the bagpipe cheeks. 
     Our political, even as the merchant main,
     A temperate gale requires
     For the ship that haven seeks;
     Neither God of the winds nor his bellowsy squires.

     Then observe the antagonist, con
     His reasons for rocking the lullaby word. 
     You stand on a different stage of the stairs. 
     He fought certain battles, yon senile lord. 
     In the strength of thee, feel his bequest to his heirs. 
     We are now on his inches of ground hard won,
     For a perch to a flight o’er his resting fence.