Prologue to American Edition

England, my mother,Lift to my western sweetheartOne full cup of English mead, breathing of the may!Pledge the may-flower in her face that you and ah, none other,Sent her from the mother-landAcross the dashing spray.

Hers and yours the story:Think of it, oh, think of it--That immortal dream when El Dorado flushed the skies!Fill the beaker full and drink to Drake's undying glory,Yours and hers (Oh, drink of it!)The dream that never dies.

Yours and hers the free-menWho scanned the stars and westward sungWhen a king commanded and the Atlantic thundered "Nay!"Hers as yours the pride is, for Drake our first of seamenFirst upon his bow-sprit hungThat bunch of English may.

Pledge her deep, my mother;Through her veins thy life-stream runs!Spare a thought, too, sweetheart, for my mother o'er the sea!Younger eyes are yours; but ah, those old eyes and none otherOnce bedewed the may-flower; once,As yours, were clear and free.

Once! Nay, now as everBeats within her ancient heartAll the faith that took you forth to seek your heaven alone:Shadows come and go; but let no shade of doubt dissever,Cloak, or cloud, or keep apartTwo souls whose prayer is one.

Sweetheart, ah, be tender--Tender with her prayer to-night!Such a goal might yet be ours!--the battle-flags be furled,All the wars of earth be crushed, if only now your slenderHand should grasp her gnarled old handAnd federate the world.

Foolish it may seem, sweet!Still the battle thunder lours:Darker look the Dreadnoughts as old Europe goes her way!Yet your hand, your hand, has power to crush that evil dream, sweet;You, with younger eyes than oursAnd brows of English may.

If a singer cherishesIdle dreams or idle words,You shall judge--and you'll forgive: for, far away or nigh,Still abides that Vision without which a people perishes:Love will strike the atoning chords!Hark--there comes a cry!

Over all this earth, sweet,The poor and weak look up to you--Lift their burdened shoulders, stretch their fettered hands in prayer:You, with gentle hands, can bring the world-wide dream to birth, sweet,While I lift this cup to youAnd wonder--will she care?

Kindle, eyes, and beat, heart!Hold the brimming breaker up!All the may is burgeoning from East to golden West!England, my mother, greet America, my sweetheart:--Ah, but ere I drained the cupI found her on your breast.