| |
| NOW England lessens on my sight; | |
| The bastioned front of Wales, | |
| Discolored and indefinite, | |
| There like a cloud-wreath sails: | |
| A league, and all those thronging hills | 5 |
| Must sink beneath the sea; | |
| But while one touch of Memory thrills, | |
| They yet shall stay with me. | |
| |
| I claim no birthright in yon sod, | |
| Though thence my blood and name; | 10 |
| My sires another region trod, | |
| Fought for another fame; | |
| Yet a son’s tear this moment wrongs | |
| My eager watching eyes, | |
| Land of the lordliest deeds and songs | 15 |
| Since Greece was great and wise! | |
| |
| Thou hedgerow thing that queenest the Earth, | |
| What magic hast?—what art? | |
| A thousand years of work and worth | |
| Are clustered at thy heart: | 20 |
| The ghosts of those that made thee free | |
| To throng thy hearth are wont; | |
| And as thy richest reliquary | |
| Thou wearest thy Abbey’s front! | |
| |
| Aye, ere my distance is complete | 25 |
| I see thy heroes come | |
| And crowd yon shadowy mountain seat, | |
| Still guardians of their home; | |
| Thy Drake, thy Nelson, and thy Bruce | |
| Glow out o’er dusky tides; | 30 |
| The rival Roses blend in truce, | |
| And King with Roundhead rides. | |
| |
| And with these phantoms born to last, | |
| A storm of music breaks; | |
| And bards, pavilioned in the past,— | 35 |
| Each from his tomb awakes! | |
| The ring and glitter of thy swords, | |
| Thy lovers’ bloom and breath, | |
| By them transmuted into words, | |
| Redeem the world from death. | 40 |
| |
| My path is West! My heart before | |
| Bounds o’er the dancing wave; | |
| Yet something ’s left I must deplore— | |
| A magic wild and grave: | |
| Though Honor live and Romance dwell | 45 |
| By mine own streams and woods, | |
| Yet not in spire and keep so well | |
| Are built such lofty moods. | |
| |
| England, perchance our love were more | |
| If we were matched and met | 50 |
| In battle squadron on the shore, | |
| Or here on ocean set: | |
| How were all other banners furled | |
| If that great duel rose! | |
| For we alone in all the world | 55 |
| Are worthy to be foes. | |
| |
| If we should fail or you should fly, | |
| ’T were but a twinned disgrace, | |
| For both are bound to bear on high | |
| The laurels of one race:— | 60 |
| No fear! new blooms shall bud above | |
| Upon the ancient wreath, | |
| For both can gentle be to Love, | |
| And insolent to Death. | |
| |
| Land of the lion-hearted brood, | 65 |
| I breathe a last adieu; | |
| To Her who reigns across the flood | |
| My loyalty is true: | |
| But with my service to her o’er, | |
| Thou, England, ownest the rest, | 70 |
| For I must worship and adore | |
| Whate’er is brave and best. | |
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