On The Tawny Sands And

And What Is Faith, Love, Virtue Unassayed Alone, Without Exterior Help Sustained?

And Live Like Nature's Bastards, Not Her Sons.

And Now The Herald Lark Left His Ground-nest, High Tow'ring To Descry The Morn's Approach, And Greet Her With His Song.

With Cowslips Wan That Hang The Pensive Head, And Every Flower That Sad Embroidery Wears.

Methinks I See In My Mind A Noble And Puissant Nation Rousing Herself Like A Strong Man After Sleep, And Shaking Her Invincible Locks; Methinks I See Her As An Eagle Mewing Her Mighty Youth, And Kindling Her Undazzled Eyes At The Full Midday Beam.