 | The Poems of Robert Bloomfield |  |
THE MAID OF LANDOGA.
Return, my Llewellyn! the glory
That heroes may gain o'er the sea,
Though nations may feel
Their invincible steel,
By falsehood is tarnish'd in story;
Why tarry, Llewellyn, from me?
That heroes may gain o'er the sea,
Though nations may feel
Their invincible steel,
By falsehood is tarnish'd in story;
Why tarry, Llewellyn, from me?
Thy sails, on the fathomless ocean,
Are swell'd by the boisterous gale:
How rests thy tired head
On the rude rocking bed?
While here not a leaf is in motion,
And melody reigns in the dale.
Are swell'd by the boisterous gale:
How rests thy tired head
On the rude rocking bed?
While here not a leaf is in motion,
And melody reigns in the dale.
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The mountains of Monmouth invite thee;
The Wye, O how beautiful here!
This woodbine, thine own,
Hath the cottage o'ergrown.
O what foreign shore can delight thee,
And where is the current so clear?
The Wye, O how beautiful here!
This woodbine, thine own,
Hath the cottage o'ergrown.
O what foreign shore can delight thee,
And where is the current so clear?
Can lands, where false pleasure assails thee,
And beauty invites thee to roam;
Can the deep orange grove
Charm with shadows of love?
Thy love at Landoga bewails thee;
Remember her truth and thy home.
And beauty invites thee to roam;
Can the deep orange grove
Charm with shadows of love?
Thy love at Landoga bewails thee;
Remember her truth and thy home.
| The Poems of Robert Bloomfield | |