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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=540279" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Young England--What Is Then Become Of Old</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=540279" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">YOUNG ENGLAND--what is then become of Old<br>Of dear Old England? Think they she is dead,<br>Dead to the very name? Presumption fed<br>On empty air! That name will keep its hold<br>In the true filial bosom's inmost fold<br>For ever.--The Spirit of Alfred, at the head<br>Of all who for her rights watched, toiled and bled,<br>Knows that this prophecy is not too bold.<br>What--how! shall she submit in will and deed<br>To Beardless Boys--an imitative race, <br>The 'servum pecus' of a Gallic breed?<br>Dear Mother! if thou 'must' thy steps retrace,<br>Go where at least meek Innocency dwells;<br>Let Babes and Sucklings be thy oracles.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=William+Wordsworth">William Wordsworth</a></strong></div>

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