by: Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
MORE POEMS BY WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT
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!