With what white wrath must turn thy bones,

What stern amazement flame thy dust.

To feel so near this England's heart The outrage of the assassin's thrust.

But surely, too, thou art consoled, —

^^'ho knewest thy stalwart breed so well, —

To see us rise from sloth and go,

Plain and unbragging, through this hell.

And surely, too, thou art assured I

Hark how that grim and gathering beat

Draws upwards from the ends of earth — The tramp, tramp of thy kindred's feet !

— Charles G. D. Roberts.

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