Queen Berengaria's Courtesy, and Other Poems By the Lady E. Stuart Wortley. In Three Vols |
 | I, II, III. |
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THE ENGLISH EXILE'S RETURN. |
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 | Queen Berengaria's Courtesy, and Other Poems |  |
THE ENGLISH EXILE'S RETURN.
Cliffs of my England!—Cliffs of England!—there
Stand ye in all your glory and your might,
The Sunshine resting on ye gleams more fair
From your white pinnacles and points of light.
Stand ye in all your glory and your might,
The Sunshine resting on ye gleams more fair
From your white pinnacles and points of light.
Cliffs of my England!—Cliffs of England!—now
Ye chain my gaze down through these starting tears,
Tears that all tremblingly at once avow
This moment's bliss—the bitterness of years!
Ye chain my gaze down through these starting tears,
Tears that all tremblingly at once avow
This moment's bliss—the bitterness of years!
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Cliffs of my England!—Cliffs of England!—keep
Your watch sublime o'er her blue kindred Sea—
Look down upon that ever-rolling Deep—
Part of our Royal England—proud and free!
Your watch sublime o'er her blue kindred Sea—
Look down upon that ever-rolling Deep—
Part of our Royal England—proud and free!
Oh! bounding as its waves is the Exile's heart
Rejoicing in this glad and sweet return,
If it felt more than grief when forced to part,
With more than joy doth it now beat and burn!
Rejoicing in this glad and sweet return,
If it felt more than grief when forced to part,
With more than joy doth it now beat and burn!
Cliffs of my England!—Cliffs of England!—hail!
My Country greets me from your towering crests,
Oh! melt away, soft mist, that spreads to veil
Those glorious heights, and on their summits rests.
My Country greets me from your towering crests,
Oh! melt away, soft mist, that spreads to veil
Those glorious heights, and on their summits rests.
No! rest thou still, soft mist! else that dear sight,
Too deeply dear—will overpower my Soul,
Bring not from utter darkness to broad light,
That wretch whose days for years did Sunless roll.
Too deeply dear—will overpower my Soul,
Bring not from utter darkness to broad light,
That wretch whose days for years did Sunless roll.
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Cliffs of Crowned England!—Cliffs of England! hail
Walls of our hallowed temple, stand sublime,
And tell the Eternal Stars the same high tale—
Unbraved—unblasted—to remotest Time!
Walls of our hallowed temple, stand sublime,
And tell the Eternal Stars the same high tale—
Unbraved—unblasted—to remotest Time!
| Queen Berengaria's Courtesy, and Other Poems | |