What ails thee, England? Altar, mart, and grange
Dream of the knife by night; not so, not so,
The clear Republic waits the general throe,
Along her noonday mountains’ open range.
God be with both! for one is young to know
Her mother’s rote of evil and of change.
V.
CHANGES IN THE TEMPLE.
The cry is at thy gates, thou darling ground,