AGNES MAULE MACHAR
SANS peur et sans reproche!—our lion-heartTo whom we turn when other hopes betray,When tyrant-might puts forth her power to slayYoung, struggling Freedom, with her poisoned dart,And Britain hath forgot the nobler partShe played, as Freedom's champion,—that proud dayShe led a world to break one despot's sway,—And from her old traditions stands apart.Milton hath gone, and Wordsworth,—but, through thee,Still rings their hate of tyranny defied;Still breathes the voice whose sound was "of the sea,"And that one "of the mountains;"—far and wideTheir echoes roll, where'er true Britons be,Or men for liberty have lived and died!
SANS peur et sans reproche!—our lion-heartTo whom we turn when other hopes betray,When tyrant-might puts forth her power to slayYoung, struggling Freedom, with her poisoned dart,And Britain hath forgot the nobler partShe played, as Freedom's champion,—that proud dayShe led a world to break one despot's sway,—And from her old traditions stands apart.Milton hath gone, and Wordsworth,—but, through thee,Still rings their hate of tyranny defied;Still breathes the voice whose sound was "of the sea,"And that one "of the mountains;"—far and wideTheir echoes roll, where'er true Britons be,Or men for liberty have lived and died!
SANS peur et sans reproche!—our lion-heartTo whom we turn when other hopes betray,When tyrant-might puts forth her power to slayYoung, struggling Freedom, with her poisoned dart,And Britain hath forgot the nobler partShe played, as Freedom's champion,—that proud dayShe led a world to break one despot's sway,—And from her old traditions stands apart.
SANS peur et sans reproche!—our lion-heart
To whom we turn when other hopes betray,
When tyrant-might puts forth her power to slay
Young, struggling Freedom, with her poisoned dart,
And Britain hath forgot the nobler part
She played, as Freedom's champion,—that proud day
She led a world to break one despot's sway,—
And from her old traditions stands apart.
Milton hath gone, and Wordsworth,—but, through thee,Still rings their hate of tyranny defied;Still breathes the voice whose sound was "of the sea,"And that one "of the mountains;"—far and wideTheir echoes roll, where'er true Britons be,Or men for liberty have lived and died!
Milton hath gone, and Wordsworth,—but, through thee,
Still rings their hate of tyranny defied;
Still breathes the voice whose sound was "of the sea,"
And that one "of the mountains;"—far and wide
Their echoes roll, where'er true Britons be,
Or men for liberty have lived and died!