256 FRANK TAYLOR
So shine they now, and like the noontide sun Before them all the fair Saint George rides on.
There goes the boy of Cre^y whispering low
To him of Agincourt, a kingly pair, With many mighty men which bent the bow, —
There go the dead that died for England, there ;
There go those quenchless Talbots, there the flower Of Devon, Grenville, Gilbert, mariners rare.
She too who thought foul scorn of Philip's power, — There go the dead that died for England, there ;
And Sidney who the rippling cup resigned,
And happy Wolfe ; wan Pitt released from care,
Nelson the well-beloved and all his kind, — There go the dead that died for England, there ;
And he who brake the Corsican's strong spell, And Nicholson, impatient of despair.
And Gordon, faithful, desolate sentinel, —
There go the dead that died for England, there ;
And there unhelmeted, ungirt of brand, Victoria moves with mild, maternal air,
Still vigilant, still prayerful for the land, —
There go the dead that died for England, there.
Nor ride they idly nor with indolent rein. Irresolute, as men that seek no foe,
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