Carmen Saeculare

The harlot that men called great Babylon, In crimson raiment and in sooth attire, The scarlet leprosy that shamed the sun, The gilded goat that plied the world for hire ;— Her days of wealth and majesty are done : Men trample her for mire ! The temple of their God is broken down ; Yea, Mammon’s shrine is cleansed ! The house of her That cowed the world with her malignant frown, And drove the Celt to exile and despair, Is battered now—God’s fire destroys the town ; London admits God’s air. They scorned the god that made them ; yea, they said : “ Lords of this globe, the Saxon race, are we. “ Europe before us lies, as men lie dead ; “ Britannia—ho ! Britannia rules the sea ! ” This night thy kingdom shall be finishèd, Thy soul required of thee. Hail ! France ! Because thy freedom hath rebelled Against the alien, and the golden yoke ; Because thy justice lives and reigns, unquelled, Unbribed ; because thy head above the smoke Soars, eagle ! Tribulation hath not felled Thy freedom’s ancient oak ! 11