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Gerald Massey (Джеральд Масси)


Down in Australia


QUAFF a cup, and send a cheer up for the Old Land!
              We have heard the Reapers shout,
              For the Harvest going out,
With the smoke of battle closing round the bold Land:
             And our message shall be hurled
             Up the ringing sides o' the world,
There are true hearts beating for you in the Gold Land.

We are with you in your battles, brave and bold Land!
              For the old ancestral tree
              Striketh root beneath the sea,
And it beareth fruit of Freedom in the Gold Land!
              We shall come too, if you call,
              We shall fight on if you fall,
Cromwell's land must never be a bought and sold Land.

O the standard of the Lord wave o'er the Old Land!
              For, the waiting world holds breath
             While she treads the dew of Death,
With the sleeve of Peace stript up from her bare, bold
         hand:
             And her ruddy Rose will bloom
             On the bosom and the tomb
Of her many Heroes fallen for the Old Land.

O, a terror to the Tyrant is the Old Land!
              He remembers how she stood
              With her raiment rolled in blood,
When the tide of battle burst upon the bold Land,
              And he looks with darkened face,
              For he knows the hero-race
Sweep the harp of Freedom —draw her Sword with bold
         hand.

Let thy glorious voice be heard thou great and bold Land!
              Speak the one victorious word,
              And fair Freedom's wandered Bird
Shall wing back with leaf of promise from the Old Land!
             And the Peoples shall come out
             From their slavery, with a shout
For the new world greeting in the Future's Gold Land.

When the smoke of Battle rises from the Old Land,
              You shall see the Tyrant down,
              You shall see the ransomed crown,
On the brow of prisoned peoples, freed with bold hand!
              She shall thrash her foes like corn;
              They shall eat the bread of scorn,
And will sing her song of Triumph in the Gold Land.

Quaff a cup, and send a cheer up from the Gold Land,
              We have heard the Reapers shout,
               For the harvest going out,
Seen the smoke of battle closing round the bold Land,
              And our message shall be hurled
              Up the ringing sides o' the world,
There are true hearts down here, beating for the Old
        Land.



Gerald Massey's other poems:
  1. To a Beloved One
  2. I Was Not Made Merely For Money-Making
  3. It will End in the Right
  4. The Patriot to his Bride
  5. England Goes to Battle


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