Gyllingdune
How pleasant here at cool of day,
Along the winding walks to stray,
Where ebbs and flows the murmuring main,
Whose music fills the woodbine lane,
High on the beach with shingles strewn,
As rise thy vespers, Gyllyngdune!
It is not meet to pass through life
For ever in the city’s strife,
Where noise and clamour bear the sway;
Then, weary worker, come away;
Its gentle calm shall cheer thee soon,
Though thou drop tears at Gyllyngdune!
And old Pendennis on his height
Looks down well pleased on such a sight.
There stands he like a warrior bold.
Nor heeds he heat nor heeds he cold,
From burst of morn till night’s dark noon,
To guard my lovely Gyllyngdune.
Dear home of love! Sweet haunt of peace!
Here weary life’s dark bickerings cease.
A sacred song is on the air
Which lulls to rest the storm of care,
And lifts the heart to heaven’s high noon;
My beautiful, my Gyllyngdune!
The audio file is for personal use only and may not be played in a public environment without the express permission of the John Harris Society.
