How mean the palace! Where's the spot
She loveth more than thy small isle,
Queen of the sea? Where hath her smile
So stirred man's inmost nature? Where
Are courage firm, and virtue fair,
And manly pride, so often found
As in rude huts on English ground,
Where e'en the serf who slaves for hire
May kindle with a freeman's fire?

How proud a sight to English eyes
Are England's village families!
The patriarch, with his silver hair,
The matron grave, the maiden fair.
The rose-cheeked boy, the sturdy lad,
On Sabbath day all neatly clad:--
Methinks I see them wend their way
On some refulgent morn of May,
By hedgerows trim, of fragrance rare,
Towards the hallowed House of Prayer!

I can love _all_ lovely lands,
But England _most_; for she commands.
As if she bore a parent's part,
The dearest movements of my heart;
And here I may not breathe her name.
Without a thrill through all my frame.

Never shall this heart be cold
To thee, my country! till the mould