Martin Farquhar Tupper Poems

I.
All joy to thee, my country, and my pride!
Be the glad muse my patriot lay to guide;
Suggest the thought, and lead the strain,
...

Rise! ye gallant youth of Britain,
Gather to your country's call,
On your hearts her name is written,
Rise to help her, one and all!
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In days long ago, when old England was young,
Her bows were the toughest that ever were strung,
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I. Against.
Think not thou that fields and flowers,
Copses and Arcadian bowers,
Grow the crop of Peace :-
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Once again my spirit waits
At a morrow's golden gates,
As in resurrection there
With the frankincense of prayer:
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Honest fellow, sore beset,
Vext by troubles quick and keen,
Thankfully consider yet
'How much worse it might have been:'
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Away with false fashion, so calm and so chill,
Where pleasure itself cannot please;
Away with cold breeding, that faithlessly still
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Behold, how glorious in his regal spoil
Marcellus comes, a victor more than human!
He, mighty warrior, shall the Roman weal
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First, honour thou the immortal gods, as a law of thy being:
Next, religiously keep thine oath, and reverence heroes:
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Luck, boys, luck! - a nugget of gold
Big as my fist in the blest black mould!
Luck! - a gallon of bright yellow grains
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