I CANNOT boast myself cosmopolite; I own to "insularity," although 'Tis fall'n from fashion, as full well I know. For somehow, being a plain and simple wight, I am skin-deep a child of the new light, But chiefly am mere Englishman below, Of island-fostering; and can hate a foe, And trust my kin before the Muscovite. Whom shall I trust if not my kin? And whom Account so near in natural bonds as these Born of my mother England's mighty womb, Nursed on my mother England's mighty knees, And lull'd as I was lull'd in glory and gloom With cradle-song of her protecting seas? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SEVEN AGAINST THEBES: CHORUS by AESCHYLUS ON KEATS, WHO DESIRED THAT ON HIS TOMB SHOULD BE INSCRIBED: by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY ODE ON THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON by ALFRED TENNYSON A WINTER'S NIGHT IN IRONDEQUOIT by EMMA MAGIN BISSELL THE WIDOW TO HER HOUR-GLASS by ROBERT BLOOMFIELD IVAN IVANOVITCH by ROBERT BROWNING THE WANDERER: 3. IN ENGLAND: 'MEDIO DE FONTE LEPORUM SURGIT AMARI..' by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON THE WANDERER: 5. IN HOLLAND: THE CANTICLE OF LOVE by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |