YOUNG ENGLAND--what is then become of Old <br />Of dear Old England? Think they she is dead, <br />Dead to the very name? Presumption fed <br />On empty air! That name will keep its hold <br />In the true filial bosom's inmost fold <br />For ever.--The Spirit of Alfred, at the head <br />Of all who for her rights watched, toiled and bled, <br />Knows that this prophecy is not too bold. <br />What--how! shall she submit in will and deed <br />To Beardless Boys--an imitative race, <br />The 'servum pecus' of a Gallic breed? <br />Dear Mother! if thou 'must' thy steps retrace, <br />Go where at least meek Innocency dwells; <br />Let Babes and Sucklings be thy oracles.<br /><br />William Wordsworth<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/young-england-what-is-then-become-of-old/
