THE Argonauts who hunted Golden Fleece,
Setting out boldly on a doubtful quest;
Old lean Columbus, leaving lands of peace
To find what granaries lay toward the West;
Why, even Cæsar, on a British road
Marching his men beneath an English rain
Haughty with conqueror’s pride, has felt a goad
That brought him to his chimney-side again.
And who shall see, against whatever sky
He calls his own, from shingled roof or thatched,
Be he of laboring men or gentle folk,
The thin blue token of his home float high
And not be glad? None live who have not watched
And felt their hearts rise faster with the smoke.