Classic Poem

Mortal, would'st thou rise? Aspire —
Mortal, would'st thou know? Enquire —
Pluck the fern, and cut the stalk:
See, within, the British oak!
With its world of twisted boughs!
With its dark and god-like brows!
On its atlas-might of stem
Bearing empire's diadem!
Dost thou hear the thunder? Hark!
Dost thou see the war-ship? Mark!
Albyn's oak commands the deep;
And, in peace, she yet shall sweep
Sloth and gloom from realms afar;
First in freedom, science, war.