Floreat Britannia.

Mafeking, 18th May 1900.

Said he not well, the bard, who wrote with proud1
Prophetic fervour, “ Naught shall make us rue,2
If England to itself do rest but true !” 13
True to the faith, that cries to us aloud4
From out our storied past, “ Though perils crowd,5
Let no fears daunt, no braggart hosts subdue,6
But still, come weal, come woe, endure and do7
Unto the last, to death or victory vow’d !”8
And have we not responded to the call ?9
Fell traitors dreamed the lion’s heart was dead,10
And on him unawares devised to fall ;11
But he sprang up, the toils around him shred,12
A force, no odds, no losses, could appal,—13
A force, for all who love us not to dread.14
1 “King John,” Act V. scene vii.