Restless the Northern Bear amid his snows 
Crouched by the Neva; menacing is France, 
That sees the shadow of the Uhlan's lance 
On her clipped borders; struggling in the throes 
Of wanton war lies Spain, and deathward goes. 
And thou, O England, how the time's mischance 
Hath fettered thee, that with averted glance 
Thou standest, marble to Armenia's woes! 
If 'twas thy haughty Dauther of the West 
That stayed thy hand,, a word had driven away 
Her sudden ire, and brought her to thy breast! 
Thy blood makes quick her pulses, and some day, 
Not now, yet some day, at thy soft behest 
She by thy side shall hold the world at bay.