. . . But thou, O England! to that sainted name Hast given its proudest praise, its loftiest fame. Witness the field of Cressy, on that day, When vollying thunders roll'd unheard on high, For in that memorable fray Broken, confused, and scatter'd in dismay, France had ears only for the Conqueror's cry, St. George, St. George for England! St. George and Victory! Bear witness Poictiers! where again the foe From that same hand received his overthrow. In vain essay'd, Mont Joye St. Denis rang From many a boastful tongue, And many a hopeful heart in onset brave; Their courage in the shock of battle quail'd His dread response when sable Edward gave, And England and St. George again prevail'd. Bear witness Agincourt, where once again The bannered lilies on the ensanguin'd plain Were trampled by the fierce pursuers' feet; And France, doom'd ever to defeat Against that foe, beheld her myriads fly Before the withering cry, St. George, St. George for England! St. George and Victory!
That cry in many a field of Fame Through glorious ages held its high renown; Nor less hath Britain proved the sacred name Auspicious to her crown. Troubled too oft her course of fortune ran Till when the Georges came Her happiest age began. Beneath their just and liberal sway, Old feuds and factions died away;