(A. D. 406)
“A Centurion of the Thirtieth” Puck of Pook’s Hill
My father’s father saw it not,
And I, belike, shall never come
To look on that so-holly 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!