odel to thy inward greatness,
Like little body with a mighty heart.
_King Henry V., Act ii. Chorus_. SHAKESPEARE.

This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise,
This fortress built by nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war:
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea.
Which serves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands;
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.
_King Richard II., Act ii. Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.

England! my country, great and free!
Heart of the world, I leap to thee!
_Festus: Sc. The Surface_. P.J. BAILEY.

We must be free or die, who speak the tongue
That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold
Which Milton held. In everything we are sprung
Of earth's first blood, have titles manifold.
_National Independence, Sonnet XVI_. W. WORDSWORTH.

Heaven (that hath placed this island to give law
To balance Europe, and her states to awe,)
In this conjunction doth on Britain smile,
The greatest leader, and the greatest isle!
Whether this portion of the world were rent,
By the rude ocean, from the continent,
Or thus created; it was sure designed
To be the sacred refuge of mankind.
_To My Lord Protector_. E. WALLER.

This England never did, nor never shall,
Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror.
_King John, Act v. Sc. 7_. SHAKESPEARE.

A land of settled government,
A land of just and old renown,
Where freedom broadens slowly down,
From precedent to precedent:

Where faction seldom gathers head:
But, by degrees to fulness wrought,
The strength of some diffusive thought
Hath time and space to work and spread.
_The Land of Lands_. A. TENNYSON.

Broad-based upon her people's will,
And compassed by the inviolate sea.
_To the Queen_. A. TENNYSON.

SCOTLAND.

O Caledonia! stern and wild.
Meet nurse for a poetic child!
Land of brown heath and shaggy wood,
Land of the mountain and the flood.
Land of my sires! what mortal hand
Can e'er untie the filial band,
That knits me to thy rugged strand!
_Lay of the Last Minstrel, Canto VI_. SIR W. SCOTT.

Hear, Land o' Cakes and brither Scots
Frae Maiden Kirk to Johnny Groat's.
_On Capt. Grose's Peregrinations Thro' Scotland_. R. BURNS.