"Go, call thy sons; instruct them what a debt
They owe their ancestors; and make them swear
To pay it, by transmitting down entire
Those sacred rights to which themselves were born."
Look from the ancient mountains down,
My noble English boy!
Thy country's fields around thee gleam
In sunlight and in joy.
Ages have roll'd since foeman's march
Pass'd o'er that old firm sod;
For well the land hath fealty held
To freedom and to God!
Gaze proudly on, my English boy!
And let thy kindling mind
Drink in the spirit of high thought
From every chainless wind!
There, in the shadow of old Time,
The halls beneath thee lie,
Which pour'd forth to the fields of yore
Our England's chivalry.
How bravely and how solemnly
They stand, 'midst oak and yew!
Whence Cressy's yeomen haply framed
The bow, in battle true.
And round their walls the good swords hang
Whose faith knew no alloy,
And shields of knighthood, pure from stain—
Gaze on, my English boy!
Gaze where the hamlet's ivied church
Gleams by the antique elm,
Or where the minster lifts the cross
High through the air's blue realm.
Martyrs have shower'd their free hearts' blood
That England's prayer might rise,
From those grey fanes of thoughtful years,
Unfetter'd, to the skies.
Along their aisles, beneath their trees,
This earth's most glorious dust,
Once fired with valour, wisdom, song,
Is laid in holy trust.
Gaze on-gaze farther, farther yet-
My gallant English boy!
Yon blue sea bears thy country's flag,
The billows' pride and joy!
Those waves in many a fight have closed
Above her faithful dead;
That red-cross flag victoriously
Hath floated o'er their bed.
They perish'd-this green turf to keep
By hostile tread unstain'd;
These knightly halls inviolate,
Those churches unprofaned.
And high and clear, their memory's light
Along our shore is set,
And many an answering beacon-fire
Shall there be kindled yet!
Lift up thy heart, my English boy!
And pray, like them to stand,
Should God so summon thee to guard
The altars of the land.
By the blue waters-the restless ocean waters,
Restless as they with their many-flashing surges,
Lonely I wander, weeping for my lost one!
I pine for thee through all the joyless day-
Through the long night I pine: the golden sun
Looks dim since thou hast left me, and the Spring
Seems but to weep. Where art thou, my beloved?
Night after night, in fond hope vigilant,
By the old temple on the breezy cliff,
These hands have heap'd the watch-fire, till it stream'd
Red o'er the shining columns-darkly red-
Along the crested billows!-but in vain;
Thy white sail comes not from the distant isles-
Yet thou wert faithful ever. Oh! the deep
Hath shut above thy head-that graceful head;
The sea-weed mingles with thy clustering locks;
The white sail never will bring back the loved!
By the blue waters-the restless ocean waters, Restless as they with their many-flashing surges, Lonely I wander, weeping for my lost one!
Where art thou ?-where?-had I but lingering prest
On thy cold lips the last long kiss; but smooth'd
The parted ringlets of thy shining hair
With love's fond touch, my heart's cry had been still'd
Into a voiceless grief; I would have strew'd
With all the pale flowers of the vernal woods-
White violets, and the mournful hyacinth,
And frail anemone, thy marble brow,
In slumber beautiful!-I would have heap'd
Sweet boughs and precious odours on thy pyre,
And with mine own shorn tresses hung thine urn,
And many a garland of the pallid rose.
But thou liest far away!-No funeral chant,
Save the wild moaning of the wave, is thine:
No pyre-save, haply, some long-buried wreck;
Thou that wert fairest-thou that wert most loved!
By the blue waters-the restless ocean waters,
Restless as they with their many-flashing surges,
Lonely I wander, weeping for my lost one!
Come, in the dreamy shadow of the night,
And speak to me !-E'en though thy voice be changed,
My heart would know it still. Oh, speak to me,
And say if yet, in some dim, far-off world,
Which knows not how the festal sunshine burns-
If yet, in some pale mead of Asphodel,
We two shall meet again! Oh, I would quit
The day, rejoicingly-the rosy light
All the rich flowers and fountains musical,
And sweet familiar melodies of earth,
To dwell with thee below!-Thou answerest not!
The powers whom I have call'd upon are mute:
The voices buried in old whispery caves,
And by lone river-sources, and amidst
The gloom and mystery of dark prophet-oaks,
The wood-gods' haunt-they give me no reply!
All silent-heaven and earth!-for evermore
From the deserted mountains thou art gone-
For ever from the melancholy groves,
Whose laurels wail thee with a shivering sound!-
And I-I pine through all the joyous day,
Through the long night I pine-as fondly pines
The night's own bird, dissolving her lorn life
To song in moonlight woods, Thou hear'st me not!
The heavens are pitiless of human tears:
The deep-sea darkness is about thy head;
The white sail never will bring back the loved!
By the blue waters-the restless ocean waters,
Restless as they with their many-flashing surges,
Lonely I wander, weeping for my lost one!
TO THE BLUE ANEMONE.
FLOWER of starry clearness bright,
Quivering urn of colour'd light,
Hast thou drawn thy cup's rich dye
From the intenseness of the sky?
|