Ay, tear his body limb from limb,
Bring cord, or axe, or flame : He only knows, that not through him
Shall England come to shame.
Far Kentish hop-fields round him seemed,
Like dreams, to come and go; Bright leagues of cherry-blossom gleamed,
One sheet of living snow; The smoke, above his father's door,
In grey soft eddyings hung: Must he then watch it rise no more,
Doomed by himself, so young?
Yes, honour calls ! witn strength like steel
He put the vision by. Let dusky Indians whine and kneel;
An English lad must die. And thus, with eyes that would not shrink,
With knee to man unbent, Unfaltering on its dreadful brink,
To his red grave he went.
Vain, mightiest fleets of iron frames;
Vain, those all-shattering guns; Unless proud England keep, untamed,
The strong heart of her sons. So, let his name through Europe ring
A man of mean estate, Who died, as firm as Sparta's king,
Because his soul was great.
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