POETRY.
TO SHAKESUARE
AFTER TIIREE HUNDRED YEARS.
SWEET Avon flows by " Street " and "Ford,"
Soft as she flowed of old ; Of Roman and of Saxon lord, Her memory is cold : Nor keeps she any Briton fame, For all her antique British name : One worth alone she honours yet, One king she never will forget, Th' centuries be told.
SHAKESPEARE, thy heart .and. hope were high, When good Queen Boss was bold, "The world's three corners " te defy, Force, fraud, and steel, and gold!
Once more thy country needs thy word, Be now thy brave brain-children heard Heartening thy kinsfolk yet again, As with quick voice of breathing mon, Thou subtlest, sanest sourd 1 So shall, in brighter, firmer tinct Than ever herald ecrolrd, Thy blazon shine with Britain's links, "First of our bards" enroll'd : And "multitudinous" as the seas, From Thule to the Antipodes, Thy wisdom sway our spirit's coil, Thine art assuage our Empire's toll,
Till its last hour is kpoll'd I HERM= WARR=
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