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KING JOHN.
71
old age must work the work of death against their
progeny; for Tyranny hath stretched his purple
arm, and "Blood," he cries: the chariots and
the horses, the noise of shout, and dreadful thunder
of the battle heard afar! Beware, O proud! thou
shalt be humbled; thy cruel brow, thine iron heart is
smitten, though lingering Fate is slow. O yet may
Albion smile again, and stretch her peaceful arms,
and raise her golden head, exultingly! Her citizens
shall throng about her gates, her mariners
shall sing upon the sea, and myriads shall to her
temples crowd! Her sons shall joy as in the
morning! Her daughters sing as to the rising
year!
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