A breeze comes past me singing, and a white cloud slow is swinging,
Like a poppy that is parting from a slender hidden stem.
There's a tumult in the distance, and a warsong in the air,
Where the foemen in their galleys, for another fight prepare,
For they whisper in the country, and they noise it in the town,
Dear flag! Old flag! O, the blue and white,
Floating in the years long gone,
How our pulses beat,
Long I've watched the eagle soaring, and the sun his colours pouring,
Till they fill the vale below me, as though with purple wine;
His comrades bore him to the grave,
In column moving slow,
With pomp their faithful subjects gave
To monarchs long ago.