Dane And German Poem by Janet Hamilton

Sadly, deeply grieving, wondering,
At the diplomatic blundering,
Powerless to prevent the thundering,
On Denmark's leaguer'd shore,
Brave Denmark! in her fated hour,
Will not falter, will not cower,
Though a pledged and trusted power
Has failed her evermore.


Leaning on a broken reed,
Hand and heart full sorely bleed;
In this her hour of utmost need
We ever stand aloof.
'Princess,' erst a Danish maiden,
Denmark's wrongs we do not aid in;
The bloody cerements she is laid in,
Are German warp and woof.


For this were our loud pæans sung,
For this the joy-bells loudly rung,
Abroad a thousand banners flung,
In festal welcome waved.
From the German Faderland
Hadst thou come-the Teuton brand
On thy fair brow and lily hand,
Thy country had been saved.


Were thy sire of Coburg's line,
Or held his rule by right divine,
The eagles ne'er in land of thine
Had fleshed the murderous beak.
Britain! from thy sullied fame,
The glorious prestige of thy name,
Wipe off the stain, and quench the shame
A Briton may not speak.