Page:A New Zealand verse (1906).pdf/48
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12
The Battle of the Free.
Oh, England, send thy navies—
Send them fearless to the war,
For thy sons,—the gallant sailors,
Are coming from afar.
They are coming—they are coming—
To guard the waters of the Island of the Sea,
And to fight in the Battle of the Free.
Send them fearless to the war,
For thy sons,—the gallant sailors,
Are coming from afar.
They are coming—they are coming—
To guard the waters of the Island of the Sea,
And to fight in the Battle of the Free.
To arms ! To arms !
Hark! what tramping hoofs resound
On the glassy slopes around
The many-masted seaports of the Island of the Free.
What is this gathering of horses that I see?
Those riderless horses from the park and from the lea?
England, exult!
For their horseless riders are coming o’er the sea.
In their wild far-distant home
They have heard thy call and come,
With red spurs and loosened reins,
Sweeping o’er Australia’s plains.
They have left their reeking steeds on the wide Pacific’s shore,
Whose wild waves rolling surdly the sounds of battle bore,
The drum-beat, and the shouting, and the cannon’s angry roar;
And ever through their music the gallant tidings ran
Of the rugged heights of Alma and the glens of Inkermann.
Oh, England, land of horsemen!
Bring thy noblest steeds of war
For thy sons, the gallant riders,
Who are sailing from afar.
They are coming—they are coming—
To bestride the horses of the Island of the Sea,
And to fight in the Battle of the Free.
Hark! what tramping hoofs resound
On the glassy slopes around
The many-masted seaports of the Island of the Free.
What is this gathering of horses that I see?
Those riderless horses from the park and from the lea?
England, exult!
For their horseless riders are coming o’er the sea.
In their wild far-distant home
They have heard thy call and come,
With red spurs and loosened reins,
Sweeping o’er Australia’s plains.
They have left their reeking steeds on the wide Pacific’s shore,
Whose wild waves rolling surdly the sounds of battle bore,
The drum-beat, and the shouting, and the cannon’s angry roar;
And ever through their music the gallant tidings ran
Of the rugged heights of Alma and the glens of Inkermann.
Oh, England, land of horsemen!
Bring thy noblest steeds of war
For thy sons, the gallant riders,
Who are sailing from afar.
They are coming—they are coming—
To bestride the horses of the Island of the Sea,
And to fight in the Battle of the Free.