ROBERT REID
WHENCE comes the charm that broods along thy shore,O sunny land of song? What potent thrall,Reckless of ocean's rise, or flow, or fall,Holds us about thy marge for evermore?Here, where the long wave breaks in measured time,And fills our being with its rhythmic moan,From far inland the glories of thy zoneBurst on our view, and beckon us to climb.Shades of the mighty dead! whose snowy towersStud the deep gorges and the wooded braes,Is there no nook for cots so small as ours?No tree whereof we yet might gather bays?But to be with thee, and to hear the waveRoll music round the land, is all we crave.
WHENCE comes the charm that broods along thy shore,O sunny land of song? What potent thrall,Reckless of ocean's rise, or flow, or fall,Holds us about thy marge for evermore?Here, where the long wave breaks in measured time,And fills our being with its rhythmic moan,From far inland the glories of thy zoneBurst on our view, and beckon us to climb.Shades of the mighty dead! whose snowy towersStud the deep gorges and the wooded braes,Is there no nook for cots so small as ours?No tree whereof we yet might gather bays?But to be with thee, and to hear the waveRoll music round the land, is all we crave.
WHENCE comes the charm that broods along thy shore,O sunny land of song? What potent thrall,Reckless of ocean's rise, or flow, or fall,Holds us about thy marge for evermore?Here, where the long wave breaks in measured time,And fills our being with its rhythmic moan,From far inland the glories of thy zoneBurst on our view, and beckon us to climb.
WHENCE comes the charm that broods along thy shore,
O sunny land of song? What potent thrall,
Reckless of ocean's rise, or flow, or fall,
Holds us about thy marge for evermore?
Here, where the long wave breaks in measured time,
And fills our being with its rhythmic moan,
From far inland the glories of thy zone
Burst on our view, and beckon us to climb.
Shades of the mighty dead! whose snowy towersStud the deep gorges and the wooded braes,Is there no nook for cots so small as ours?No tree whereof we yet might gather bays?But to be with thee, and to hear the waveRoll music round the land, is all we crave.
Shades of the mighty dead! whose snowy towers
Stud the deep gorges and the wooded braes,
Is there no nook for cots so small as ours?
No tree whereof we yet might gather bays?
But to be with thee, and to hear the wave
Roll music round the land, is all we crave.