Kent

"Fair Kent, ... What countrie hath this isle that may compare with thee?"

"Ye scenes, my melancholy soul that fill! Where Nature’s voice no crowds tumultuous drown, And but through brakes of trees, the lawns that crown, The paths of men are seen; and farther still, Scarce peeps the city-spire o’er many a hill; Your green retreats, lone walks, and shadows brown, While sheep feed round beneath the branches’ frown, Shall calm my mind and holy thoughts instil.— What though with passion oft my trembling frame Each real and each fancied wrong inflame, Wandering alone I here my thoughts reclaim: Resentment sinks, Disgust within me dies; And Charity and meek Forgiveness rise, And melt my soul, and overflow my eyes."

"Vanguard of Liberty, ye Men of Kent, Ye Children of a Soil that doth advance Her haughty brow against the coast of France, Now is the time to prove your hardiment! To France be words of invitation sent! They from their Fields can see the countenance Of your fierce war, may ken the glittering lance And hear you shouting forth your brave intent. Left single, in bold parley, Ye, of yore, Did from the Norman win a gallant wreath; Confirmed the charters that were yours before;— No parleying now! In Britain is one breath; We all are with you now from Shore to Shore:— Ye Men of Kent, 'tis Victory or Death!"