Then from the wasted places of the land, Charr'd skeletons of cities, circling walls Of Roman might, and towers that shatter'd stand Of that lost world survivors, forth she calls Her new creation:--O'er the land is wrought The happy villagedom by English tribes From Elbe and Baltic brought; Red kine light up with life the ravaged plain; The forest glooms are pierced; the plough-land laughs again. 10 Each from its little croft the homesteads peep, Green apple-garths around, and hedgeless meads, Smooth-shaven lawns of ever-shifting sheep, Wolds where his dappled crew the swineherd feeds:-- Pale gold round pure pale foreheads, and their eyes More dewy blue than speedwell by the brook When Spring's fresh current flies, The free fair maids come barefoot to the fount, Or poppy-crown'd with fire, the car of harvest mount. 11 On the salt stream that rings us, ness and bay, The nation's old sea-soul beats blithe and strong; The black foam-breasters taste Biscayan spray, And where 'neath Polar dawns the narwhals throng:-- Free hands, free hearts, for labour and for glee, Or village-moot, when thane with churl unites Beneath the sacred tree; While wisdom tempers force, and bravery leads, Till spears beat _Aye_! on shields, and words at once are deeds. 12 Again with life the ruin'd cities smile, Again from mother-Rome their sacred fire Knowledge and Faith rekindle through the isle, Nigh quench'd by barbarous war and heathen ire:-- --No more on Balder's grave let Anglia weep When winter storms entomb the golden year Sunk in Adonis-sleep; Another God has risen, and not in vain! The Woden-ash is low, the Cross asserts her reign. 13 --Land of the most law-loving,--the most free! My dear, dear England! sweet and green as now The flower-illumined garden of the sea, And Nature least impair'd by axe and plough! A laughing land!--Thou seest not in the north How the black Dane and vulture Norseman wait The sign of coming forth, The foul Landeyda flap its raven plume, And all the realms once more eclipsed in pagan gloom! 14 --O race, of many races well compact! As some rich stream that runs in silver down From the White Mount:--his baby steps untrack'd Where clouds and emerald cliffs of crystal frown; Now, alien founts bring tributary flood, Or kindred waters blend their native hue, Some darkening as with blood; These fraught with iron strength and freshening brine, And these with lustral waves, to sweeten and refine. 15