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Pages 69-70
THE CLIFFS OF DOVER.
BY MRS. HEMANS.
Rocks of my country! let the cloud
Your crested heights array;
And rise ye like a fortress proud,
Above the surge and spray!
My spirit greets you as ye stand,
Breasting the billow's foam;
Oh, thus for ever guard the land,
The sever'd land of home!
I have left sunny skies behind
Lighting up classic shrines,
And music in the southern wind,
And sunshine on the vines.
The breathings of the myrtle flowers
Have floated o'er my way,
The pilgrim's voice at vesper hours
Hath sooth'd me with its lay.
The isles of Greece, the hills of Spain,
The purple heavens of Rome—
Yes, all are glorious; yet again
I bless thee, land of home!
