GIBRALTER

by: Wilfrid Scawen Blunt (1840-1922)

      EVEN 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!

MORE POEMS BY WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT

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