Saturday, 28 January 2017

this sceptr’d isle

Of course timeless words never ought to be denigrated for a moment’s gain but their lessons obviously resound and need no champions or intermediaries:

This royal throne of kings, this sceptr’d isle,
This Earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise,
This fortress built by Nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war,
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves in it the office of a wall
Or as a moat defensive to a house
Against the envy of less happier lands—
This blessed plot, the Earth, this realm, this England!

Through the bleary-eyed and hysterical metrics of today Hobbits too for their love of the Shire—and perhaps for their near universal dismissal by other races, are seen as Little Englanders. Any great and enduring work can withstand these ephemeral sights, however, and lasts because, despite they’re often invoked and abused.