Chorus.—­For the French the Pope may shrive ’em,
For the devil a whit we heed ’em,
As for the French, God speed ’em
Unto their hearts’ desire,
And the merry devil drive ’em
Through the water and the fire.

Chorus.—­Our glory is our freedom,
We lord it o’er the sea;
We are the sons of freedom,
We are free.

There is no land like England,
Where’er the light of day be;
There are no wives like English wives,
So fair and chaste as they be. 
There is no land like England,
Where’er the light of day be,
There are no maids like English maids,
So beautiful as they be.

  Chorus.—­For the French, etc.

[Sixty years after first publication this Song was incorporated in ‘The Foresters’ (published 1892) as the opening chorus of the second act.  The two verses were unaltered, but the two choruses were re-written.]

XXII

=Dualisms=

  Two bees within a chrystal flowerbell rocked
  Hum a lovelay to the westwind at noontide. 
  Both alike, they buzz together,
  Both alike, they hum together
  Through and through the flowered heather.

  Where in a creeping cove the wave unshocked
    Lays itself calm and wide,
  Over a stream two birds of glancing feather
  Do woo each other, carolling together. 
  Both alike, they glide together
    Side by side;
  Both alike, they sing together,
  Arching blue-glossed necks beneath the purple weather.

  Two children lovelier than love, adown the lea are singing,
  As they gambol, lilygarlands ever stringing: 
  Both in blosmwhite silk are frocked: 
  Like, unlike, they roam together
  Under a summervault of golden weather;
  Like, unlike, they sing together
    Side by side;
  Mid May’s darling goldenlocked,
  Summer’s tanling diamondeyed.

XXIII

[Greek:  ohi rheontes]

  I

  All thoughts, all creeds, all dreams are true,
    All visions wild and strange;
  Man is the measure of all truth
    Unto himself.  All truth is change: 
  All men do walk in sleep, and all
    Have faith in that they dream: 
  For all things are as they seem to all,
    And all things flow like a stream.

  II

  There is no rest, no calm, no pause,
    Nor good nor ill, nor light nor shade,
  Nor essence nor eternal laws: 
    For nothing is, but all is made,
  But if I dream that all these are,
    They are to me for that I dream;
  For all things are as they seem to all,
    And all things flow like a stream.

Argal.—­This very opinion is only true relatively to the flowing philosophers. (Tennyson’s note.)

XXIV