Page:An appeal to England against the execution of the condemned Fenians - Swinburne (1867).djvu/14

II.

Nay, thy name from of old,

Mother, was pure, or we dreamed;
Purer we held thee than this,
Purer fain would we hold;
So goodly a glory it seemed,
A fame so bounteous of bliss,
So more precious than gold,

III.

A praise so sweet in our ears,

That thou in the tempest of things
As a rock for a refuge should'st stand,
In the blood-red river of tears
Poured forth for the triumph of kings;
A safeguard, a sheltering land,
In the thunder and torrent of years.