On the English Genius.
To an English friend who had compared Voltaire to the Sun
The glow of genius is old England's sun,
Inspiring love of glory and her race,
And pride in freedom which her people won
These, more than all the Arts, her 'scutcheon grace.
The sacred fire which rash Prometheus stole
Illumes not climates, but the mind's flame feeds;
The north winds chill not the true Briton's soul,
Nor quench the sparks that shine in mighty deeds.
This love of country gives the ardent thrill
In sober statesman—speech and pulpit plea,
That fires the patriot heart with steadfast will
To make its country great and keep it free.
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