A British-Roman Song

 My father's father saw it not,
 And I, belike, shall never come
 To look on that so-holy spot,
 That very Rome,

 Crowned by all Time, all Art, all Might,
 The equal work of Gods and Man,
 City beneath whose oldest height,
 The Race began!

 Soon to send forth again a brood,
 Unshakable, we pray, that clings
 To Rome's thrice-hammered hardihood,
 In arduous things.

 Strong heart with triple armour bound,
 Beat strongly, for thy life-blood runs,
 Age after Age, the Empire round,
 In us thy Sons

 Who, distant from the Seven Hills,
 Loving and serving much, require
 Thee, thee to guard 'gainst home-born ills
 The Imperial Fire!