Changeless in beauty, rose-hues on her cheek,
Old walls, old trees, old memories all around
Lend her unfading youth their charm antique
And fill with mystic light her holy ground.
Here the lost dove her leaf of promise found
While the new morning showed its blushing streak
Far o'er the waters she had crossed to seek
The bleak, wild shore in billowy forests drowned.
Mother of scholars! on thy rising throne
Thine elder sisters look benignant down;
England's proud twins, and they whose cloisters own
The fame of Abelard, the scarlet gown
That laughing Rabelais wore, not yet outgrown—
And on thy forehead place the New World's crown.