Castle Drive at Pendennis (From Shakspere’s Shrine, an Indian Story, Essays and Poems 1866)
Around it swells the sea,
Blue, beautiful, and free;
Beyond, the rampart and the castle high;
And walk which way we will,
Along this classic hill,
Great odes of grandeur roll up to the sky.
The sea-bird loves to soar
Along its ridges hoar,
Then drop and ride along the rolling wave,
And murmurs charm the ear,
From brake and blossom dear,
Like some old prophet piping in his cave.
Go see the vessels glide
Over the freshening tide,
And mark the echo of the boatman’s lay;
The dripping of the oar
A few feet from the shore,
As o’er the water he pursues his way.
Below, fair Gyllyngdune
Is like a dell in June;
And there dear Falmouth mirrored in her bay;
And there the docks, and there
St. Mawes, with aspect fair,
By the white lighthouse with its beacon ray.
Can fairer scene be found
Than this which hems us round,
The sky above, the sea and earth below?
And health, in healing tone,
Over the heights breeze-blown,
Ruddy as morning, sweetly answers, No!
Thanks, thanks to those who planned,
On old Pendennis land,
This carriage drive and footpath by its side,
Where youth and age may walk,
And lovers sweetly talk,
As down the west the evening star doth glide.
May war-blast never more
From those old cannons roar,
Which lie above us on their idle cars!
Till every battle-blade
Is beaten to a spade,
And peace shall triumph underneath the stars.
Great King of Kings, to Thee
We bend the lowly knee;
O save our Queen, our Prince and Princess dear,
And shield our native land
From war’s relentless hand,
And let Thy kingdom on the earth appear.
