ONE shire, our greatest in mere leagues of loam,

And nowise least in all that makes life's wine

A ruddy and potent draught, is yours and mine:

One norland shire, our broad ancestral home.

There, where the Swale and Ure converging roam,

My own dim roots with the far Past entwine,

And yours are 'midst the Wolds that breathe the brine,

Odorous and acrid from the eastern foam.

Strong men did Yorkshire heretofore beget,

And stainless women ! And we who come of both

Have seen the valour of the dales leap high

In hearts unvanquishable, that kept their troth

With England, when Death cast for her his net

By land and sea, and from the insulted sky.