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Alfred Austin - To England
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Men deemed thee fallen, did they? fallen like Rome,
 Coiled into self to foil a Vandal throng:
 Not wholly shorn of strength, but vainly strong;
 Weaned from thy fame by a too happy home,
 Scanning the ridges of thy teeming loam,
 Counting thy flocks, humming thy harvest song,
 Callous, because thyself secure, `gainst wrong,
 Behind the impassable fences of the foam!
 The dupes! Thou dost but stand erect, and lo!
 The nations cluster round; and while the horde
 Of wolfish backs slouch homeward to their snow,
 Thou, `mid thy sheaves in peaceful seasons stored,
 Towerest supreme, victor without a blow,
 Smilingly leaning on thy undrawn sword!
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