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ENGLAND, by                    
First Line: Thou art as a lone watcher on a rock
Last Line: Up the long sea-curve rides its stately form.


THOU art as a lone watcher on a rock,
With Saxon hair back floating in the wind,
Gazing where stranger ships, to doom consigned,
Upon the sullen ledges grind and knock.
Fair were the barks round which the breakers flock,
Rich freights had they of treasure for mankind,
And gallant were the hearts that left behind
The sea's broad buffet for the channel's shock.
Slow, slow the ship that brings thy liberties
Cuts the white tempest or the bright, blue brine,
And wanders oft before the whelming storm,
And ever the swift straits and shallows flees.
But near, more near, the haven's sheltering line,
Up the long sea-curve rides its stately form.





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