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Iona Leigh
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Queen Boadicea
When the Celtic warrior queen bleeding from the Roman rods
Sought with an indignant mien counsel of her country's gods
The sage beneath a spreading oak sat the Druid ancient chief
Every burning word he spoke was full of rage and full of grief
Boadicea, with the monarch's pride
Boadicea, battled, fought, and died
Boadicea, with tears for peace she cried
Boadicea, brought the turning of the tide
Princess if our aged eyes weep upon thy matchless wrongs
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The strength of our resentment ties all the terror of our tongues
When the progeny that springs from the forests of our land
Armed with thunder, clad with wings shall a wider world command
She with all a monarch's pride felt them in her bosom glow
Rushed to battle, fought and died then dying hurled them at the foe
Now other soldiers shall arise heedless of their brother's name
But sounds not arms shall win the prize with harmony the path to fame
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