SEVEN weeks of sea, and twice seven days of storm Upon the huge Atlantic, and once more We ride into still water and the calm Of a sweet evening, screen'd by either shore Of Spain and Barbary. Our toils are o'er, Our exile is accomplish'd. Once again We look on Europe, mistress as of yore Of the fair earth and of the hearts of men. Ay, this is the famed rock which Hercules And Goth and Moor bequeath'd us. At this door England stands sentry. God! to hear the shrill Sweet treble of her fifes upon the breeze, And at the summons of the rock gun's roar To see her red coats marching from the hill! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LINES ON THE MONUMENT OF GIUSEPPE MAZZINI by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE DRINKING SONG by NICOLAS BOILEAU-DESPREAUX THE INDIAN by ARTHUR STANLEY BOURINOT OLD HOUSE by MARGARET PERKINS BRIGGS COUNT THE LAWIN' by ROBERT BURNS MY FATHER WAS A FARMER by ROBERT BURNS THE INDIAN GONE! by JOSIAH D. CANNING TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 3. LOVE'S VISION by EDWARD CARPENTER |