From The .Nlseum Of Foreign Literature and Science


THE CLIFFS OF DOVER.
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BY MRS. HEaANs.
Rocks Of my country let the cloud
Your crested heights array;
And rise ye like fortress proud,
Above the surge and spray
My spirit Rreets you as ye stand.
Breasting the bi'low's f,am
Oh, thus for ever guard the iands
The seyei'd land Of houe!
| have left sunny skies behind
Lighting up classic -hrnes,
Ard music in the southern wind,
And sunshine on the vines.
The breathings Of the myrtle flowers
Have foated DER my wsy.
Ihe pilgrims voice at vesper hours
Hath sootli'd me with its lay.
The isles of Greece, the hills of Spain,
The purple heavens of Rome
Yes, all are glorious yet again
bless thee. land vt home
For thine the Sabbath peace, my land.
And hine the guarded hearth;
And thine the dead, the noble band
That make thee holy earth.
Their voices meet me in thy breeze.
Their steps are on thy plains;
Their names, by old majestic trees.
Are whispered round thy fanes:
Their blood hath mingled with the tide
OF thine exulting sea -
oh, be i, still JOY, pride.


To live and die for thee!