ENGLAND, 1877.
Thou hast not played the braggart in our time,
land of Commerce, foremost once in War!
Among the guardians of thy sacred shore
Are those who preach to all that War is crime,
"Sweet peace," they cry, "should reign from clime to clime."
But look abroad! The Cossack wades through gore
To stretch his wide dominions more and more,
Muttering his prayers, meantime, like some base mime.
While, as of old, glorious Mother Isle!
Thou hast arrayed thyself in warlike might,
Waiting expectant to uphold the right.
Thy battle-ships are at the envied gates;
And thy brief words in scorn of Russia's guile
Have won respect from cold and alien States.
Melbourne, September 1877.
The second Sonnet was even more bellicose; for it was composed on receipt of the stirring intelligence that Indian troops had been despatched to Malta.
