OLD ENGLAND.

New Zealander, Volume XXI, Issue 2265, 3 November 1864, Page 6

OLD ENGLAND.

There sin sits in her Island horn;-, Peerless among her Peers ! An ILiberty oft to her arms doth corns, To ease its poor heart of tears. Old England still throbs with the muffled fire

Of a past she can never forget; And again shall she banner the World up higher ; For there's life in the Old Land yet.

They would mock at. her now, who of old looked forth In their fear, as they heard her afar ; But loud will your wail be, O Kings of the earth ; When the Old Land goes down to the war. The Avalanche trembles, half-launcht and half-riven, Her voice will iu motion set; O riug out the tidings, ye Winds of heaven ! There's life in the Old Land yet. The old nursing Mother's not hoary yet, There is sap in her Saxon tree; Lo ; she lifteth a bosom of glory yet, Thro' her mists, to the Sun and the Sea. Fair as the Queen of Love, fresh from the foam, Or a star in a dark cloud set; Ye may blazon her shame —ye may leap at her name— But there's life in the Old Land yet. Let tbe storm burst, it will fiud the Old Land Ready-ripe for a rough, red fray ! She will fight as she fought when she took her stand For the Right in the olden day. Av, rouse the old royal soul, Europe's best hope Is her sword-edge, by Victory set! She shall dash Freedom's foes'a down Death's bloody slope ; For there's life in the Old Land yet.