414. Dover Cliffs

ON these white cliffs, that calm above the flood

Uplift their shadowy heads, and at their feet

Scarce hear the surge that has for ages beat,

Sure many a lonely wanderer has stood;

And while the distant murmur met his ear,

And o’er the distant billows the still eve

Sailed slow, has thought of all his heart must leave

To-morrow; of the friends he loved most dear;

Of social scenes from which he wept to part.

But if, like me, he knew how fruitless all

The thoughts that would full fain the past recall;

Soon would he quell the risings of his heart,

And brave the wild winds and unhearing tide,

The world his country, and his God his guide.