A BREATHING-SPACE.
A BREATHING-SPACE! We have a respite still. The storm is gathering, and the clouds of war, Big with their deep-voiced thunder, growl afar Portending ruin: yet with palsied will, As spell-bound dreamers, we are slumbering still, Now hot, now cold, like ague : or, with jar Irate of rancorous faction, haste to mar The slow great work of our forefathers' skill. 0 shame ! We cannot, if we will, come down From our high place; or leave the abandoned wave To rule of others ; nor ourselves discrown ; The fall of monarchs lies too near their grave. For life, for safety, arm ye then, be bold! The envious nations thirst for England's gold.
" NAI MA TOT"— WHEN the Athenian orator of yore
Would lift his country to its earlier height, By Marathon and Salamis he swore, And pointed to their glories full in sight.
So by Trafalgar, and by Waterloo, Let us too swear, we will not yield one inch For sloth, or weakness. We have work to do Greater with greater empire. Shall we flinch Degenerate? Nay, with strong embattled host Hold we our land, with fleets our subject seas !
Mistrust the very breakers round our coast Lest they be leagued to admit our enemies !
We have in us the blood of Nelson's men : Has it grown cold? 'Twas molten lava then.
A. G. B..
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