Belgi\ 



um 



By fair Liege, whose storied dead 

 Sleep in her great cathedral's nave, 

 The Meuse rolls on, with glittering wave 



(Lo! 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 wail}. 



Namur o'erlooks fair lands outspread 

 Where hamlets of Brabant are seen 

 Standing knee-deep in meadows green 



(Soft 'tis 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 days 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 



