| |
| ARE these the famed, the brave South Downs, | |
| That like a chain of pearls appear; | |
| Their pale-green sides and graceful crowns? | |
| To freedom, thought, and peace, how dear! | |
| To freedom, for no fence is seen; | 5 |
| To thought, for silence soothes the way; | |
| To peace, for o’er the boundless green | |
| Unnumbered flocks and shepherds stray. | |
| |
| Now, now we ’ve gained the utmost height: | |
| Where shall we match the vale below? | 10 |
| The Weald of Sussex, glorious sight, | |
| Old Chankbury, from the tufted brow. | |
| And here old Sissa, so they tell, | |
| The Saxon monarch, closed his days; | |
| I judge they played their parts right well, | 15 |
| But cannot stop to sing their praise. | |
| |
| For yonder, near the ocean’s brim, | |
| I see, I taste, the coming joy; | |
| There Mary binds the withered limb,— | |
| The mother tends the poor lame boy. | 20 |
| My heart is there—Sleep, Romans, sleep; | |
| And what are Saxon kings to me? | |
| Let me, O thou majestic Deep, | |
| Let me descend to love and thee. | |
| |
| And may thy calm, fair-flowing tide | 25 |
| Bring Peace and Hope, and bid them live; | |
| And Night, whilst wandering by thy side, | |
| Teach wisdom,—teach me to forgive. | |
| Then, when my heart is whole again, | |
| And Fancy’s renovated wing | 30 |
| Sweeps o’er the terrors of thy reign, | |
| Strong on my soul those terrors bring. | |
| |
| Oaks, British oaks, form all its shade, | |
| Dark as a forest’s ample crown; | |
| Yet by rich herds how cheerful made, | 35 |
| And countless spots of harvest brown! | |
| But what ’s yon southward dark-blue line, | |
| Along the horizon’s utmost bound, | |
| On which the weary clouds recline, | |
| Still varying half the circle round? | 40 |
| |
| The sea! the sea! my God! the sea! | |
| Yon sunbeams on its bosom play! | |
| With milk-white sails expanded free | |
| There ploughs the bark her cheerful way! | |
| I come, I come, my heart beats high; | 45 |
| The greensward stretches southward still; | |
| Soft in the breeze the heath-bells sigh; | |
| Up, up, we scale another hill! | |
| |
| A spot where once the eagle towered | |
| O’er Albion’s green primeval charms, | 50 |
| And where the harmless wild-thyme flowered | |
| Did Rome’s proud legions pile their arms. | |
| In Infant’s haunts I ’ve dreamed of thee, | |
| And where the crystal brook ran by | |
| Marked sands and waves and open sea, | 55 |
| And gazed, but with an infant’s eye. | |
| |
| ’T was joy to pass the stormy hour | |
| In groves, when childhood knew no more; | |
| Increase that joy, tremendous power, | |
| Loud let thy world of waters roar. | 60 |
| And if the scene reflection drowns, | |
| Or draws too strongly rapture’s tear, | |
| I ’ll change it for these lovely Downs, | |
| This calm smooth turf, and worship here! | |
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