  THE FLAG OF OLD ENGLANDA CENTENARY SONG OF THE LANDING OF CORNWALLIS AT HALIFAX ALL hail to the day when the Britons came over, And planted their standard, with sea-foam still wet! Around and above us their spirits will hover, Rejoicing to mark how we honor it yet. Beneath it the emblems they cherished are waving, The Rose of Old England the roadside perfumes; The Shamrock and Thistle the north winds are braving, Securely the Mayflower Hail to the day when the Britons came over, And planted their standard, with sea-foam still wet, Around and above us their spirits will hover, Rejoicing to mark how we honor it yet. We'll honor it yet, we'll honor it yet, The flag of Old England! we'll honor it yet. In the temples they founded, their faith is maintained, Every foot of the soil they bequeathed is still ours, The graves where they moulder, no foe has profaned, But we wreathe them with verdure, and strew them with flowers! The blood of no brother, in civil strife poured, In this hour of rejoicing encumbers our souls! The frontier's the field for the patriot's sword, And cursed be the weapon that faction controls! Then hail to the day! 'tis with memories crowded, Delightful to trace 'midst the mists of the past, Like the features of Beauty, bewitchingly shrouded, They shine through the shadows Time o'er them has cast. As travellers track to its source in the mountains The stream which, far swelling, expands o'er the plains, Our hearts on this day fondly turn to the fountains Whence flow the warm currents that bound in our veins. And proudly we trace them! No warrior flying From city assaulted, and fanes overthrown, With the last of his race on the battlements dying, And weary with wandering, founded our own. From the Queen of the Islands, then famous in story, A century since, our brave forefathers came, And our kindred yet fill the wide world with her glory, Enlarging her empire, and spreading her name. Every flash of her genius our pathway enlightens, Every field she explores we are beckoned to tread, Each laurel she gathers our future day brightens— We joy with her living, and mourn for her dead. Then hail to the day when the Britons came over, And planted their standard, with sea-foam still wet! Above and around us their spirits shall hover, Rejoicing to mark how we honor it yet. DESERTED nest, that on the leafless tree Waves to and fro with every dreary blast, With none to shelter, none to care for thee, Thy day of pride and cheerfulness is past. Thy tiny walls are falling to decay, Thy cell is tenantless and tuneless now, The winter winds have rent the leaves away, And left thee hanging on the naked bough. But yet, deserted nest, there is a spell, E'en in thy loneliness, to touch the heart, For holy things within thee once did dwell, The type of joys departed now thou art. With what assiduous care thy framers wrought, With what delight they viewed the structure rise, And how, as each some tiny rafter brought, Pleasure and hope would sparkle in their eyes. Ah! who shall tell, when all the work was done, The rapturous pleasure that their labors crowned, The blissful moments Nature for them won, And bade them celebrate with joyous sound. A father's pride, a mother's anxious care, Her fluttered spirits, and his gentlest tone, All, all that wedded hearts so fondly share, To thee, deserted nest, were surely known. Then though thy walls be rent, and cold thy cell, And thoughtless crowds may hourly pass thee by, Where love and truth and tenderness did dwell, There's still attraction for the poet's eye. |
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