1 Your ancestors came from the fires of Troy They landed in firm array upon the rocks Of Albion; they kiss'd the rocky shore ; "Be thou our mother and our nurse," they said; grave, "The sepulchre of ancient Troy, from whence Our fathers swarm from the ships. Giant voices Our fathers move in firm array to battle, Lights on some woody shore; the parched heavens The smoking trees are strewn upon the shore, Spoil'd of their verdure! O how oft have they Defied the storm that howled o'er their heads! Our fathers, sweating, lean on their spears, and view The mighty dead: giant bodies, streaming blood, Then Brutus spoke, inspired; our fathers sit Hear ye the voice of Brutus-" The flowing waves "Our sons shall rule the empire of the sea. "Their mighty wings shall stretch from east to west, "Their nest is in the sea; but they shall roam "Like eagles for the prey; nor shall the young "Crave or be heard; for plenty shall bring forth, "Cities shall sing, and vales in rich array “Shall laugh, whose fruitful laps bend down with fulness. "Our sons shall rise from thrones in joy, "Each one buckling on his armour; Morning "Shall be prevented by their swords gleaming, "And Evening hear their song of victory! "Their towers shall be built upon the rocks, "Their daughters shall sing, surrounded with shining spears! "Liberty shall stand upon the cliffs of Albion, Casting her blue eyes over the green ocean; "Or, towering, stand upon the roaring waves, "Stretching her mighty spear o'er distant lands; "While, with her eagle wings, she covereth "Fair Albion's shore, and all her families." PROLOGUE INTENDED FOR A DRAMATIC PIECE OF KING EDWARD O THE FOURTH. FOR a voice like thunder, and a tongue To drown the throat of war! When the senses Are shaken, and the soul is driven to madness, Who can stand? When the souls of the oppress'd Fight in the troubled air that rages, who can stand? When the whirlwind of fury comes from the Throne of God, when the frowns of His counte nance Drive the nations together, who can stand? J PROLOGUE TO KING JOHN. USTICE hath heaved a sword to plunge in Albion's breast; for Albion's sins are crimsondyed, and the red scourge follows her desolate sons. Then Patriot rose; full oft did Patriot rise, when Tyranny hath stained fair Albion's breast with her own children's gore. Round his majestic heart does tremble, feet deep thunders roll; each and each knee grows slack. The stars of heaven tremble; the roaring voice of war, the trumpet, calls to battle! Brother in brother's blood must bathe, rivers of death! O land most hapless! O beauteous island, how forsaken! Weep from thy silver fountains, weep from thy gentle rivers! The angel of the island weeps! Thy widowed virgins weep beneath thy shades! Thy aged fathers gird themselves for war! The sucking infant lives to die in battle; the weeping mother feeds him for the slaughter! The husbandman doth leave his bending harvest ! Blood cries afar! The land doth sow itself! The glittering youth of courts must gleam in arms! The aged senators their ancient swords assume! The trembling sinews of |