191 sH Belgium 



By fair Liege, whose storied dead 

 Sleep in her great cathedral's nave, 

 The Meuse rolls on, with glittering wave - 



\Lol her green current turns to red). 



At Bruges the belfry tells its tale 

 Of days when ugliness was crime, 

 And bids us hark the ancient chime — 



(/ only hear a child's low wait). 



Namur o'erlooks fair lands outspread 

 Where hamlets of Brabant are seen 

 Standing knee-deep in meadows green 



(So/i: — his a new-made grave you tread). 



At Ghent the great bell Roland tolls 



Where through six centuries long the tower 

 Has summoned freemen to their hour — 



(It mourns a thousand passing souls). 



And old Louvain, Louvain the wise. 

 Hugs to her breast the precious store 

 Forgathered of our ancient lore — 



{But hungry flames fill all her skies). 



And Ostend, by the gray North Sea, 

 Dreams of her ancient hardihood; 

 {A sea more grim, of steel and blood, 



Surges behind her ceaselessly). 



Howe'er the tide of battle roll. 



There bides what none can burn or raze — 



The Flemish spirit of old days. 

 The ageless freedom of the soul. 



Land of long da3^s of frightfulness, 

 For faith and honor crucified. 

 Though thou art small, and earth is wide, 



We still shall love thee none the less. 



C 663 : 



