To venture ’neath the gripe of one
Whose ancient race, from sire to son,
Has ever, e’en in face of death,
Upheld that pure and holy faith
By thee and thine denied!
Or think’st thou that, to bow the knee
And whisper words of gallantry
To one of English blood and birth
Were pastime meet for hour of mirth?
God’s life! before to-morrow’s sun