Alas for England, if her native hearts
Were only to be won by stately towers,
Or oft--recurring chime of many parts,
With lively music cheating the dull hours;
If only beauteous fields or lavish flowers
Would win and keep the children whom she bears!
Not that we lack of these, but there are ours
More healing medicines for our daily cares:--
Nations have fought against the fanes they raised;
For gold have bartered pomp: but where the law
Builds on men's hearts,--no longer vainly praised,
But with a settled and deep--rooted awe
It takes possession of its children's love,
And reigns, fit emblem of its source above.