Anonymous poem from Belgravia magazine, 1876
Not one o’er which the heart could say
‘These Romans were of kindred clay.’
Yes one! I found a broken tile --
Among the rest ‘twas little worth;
It could not tell the name or style
Of any god in heaven or earth;
It did not in the least bring home
The might or majesty of Rome.
But on its unpretending face,
Of greater price than virgin gold,
Some childish hand had striven to trace
The semblence of a warrior bold.
Ye guardian powers! Shield them well
When all the shudd’ring banks of the Tyne
Give back the Caledonian yell,
And ‘gainst the calm-eyed Roman line
Wave behind wave, tumultous roar
The torrents of Barbarian War.